Uprising
by SergeantLawson
Summary: "Wake up, Mr. Freeman... wake up and smell the ashes." The Combine have taken over Earth. The Resistance is on the verge of being crushed for good... until Gordon Freeman steps off the train at City 17. With Freeman in play once again, Earth might finally be delivered back into the hands of free men and women. Essentially Half-Life 2 with some personal twists and OCs along the way.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1: Point Insertion

AUTHOR'S NOTE: For those of you who don't know me (practically everyone), I'm new to this side of the fanfiction scene. I have read plenty of fics myself, mostly _Star Fox_ and _Mass Effect_ with a bit of_ Half-Life_ on the side. However, writing one myself is still unexplored territory, so reviews are highly appreciated whether they are full of praise or brimming with spiteful pessimism. As for this fic itself, it's a full book that tells the story of _Half-Life 2_ from a more personal and involved perspective. I'm writing this in first person so you guys can tell what Gordon is thinking; I even gave him a voice (please don't cut my tongue out with a meat thermometer). I am also going to introduce numerous OC's on both sides and give the other side's perspective on the war. There will be several differences from the actual game along the way (it wouldn't be fanfiction otherwise), but hopefully none too drastic. Please note: "We Don't Go to Ravenholm…" has been removed in order to keep the violence at an upper-T rating, and "Highway 17" and "Sand Traps" will be combined into one chapter (still called "Highway 17") to make the story move faster. Again, thanks so much for reading!

An eerie voice in my head cut into my dreams. "Wake up, Mr. Freeman," the voice said in a slow, patient manner, "Not to imply that you have been sleeping on the job. Certainly no one is more deserving of a rest than you." Images flashed through my subconscious, memories of the Black Mesa Incident, "No doubt all the effort in the world would have gone to waste until… well, let's just say your hour has come again." More images flashed into my brain, but this time of the Combine Citadel. "The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world. So, wake up, Mr. Freeman… wake up and smell the ashes."

I gasped and sat upright, realizing that the voice was that of my old administrator at Black Mesa. Now he was the Combine's leader on Earth. Of course, he wasn't in the train car with me. He was nice and cozy in his office on the top floor of the Combine Citadel, which I would get my first glimpse of soon.

"Hey, I didn't see you get on." I jumped in surprise at the hand on my shoulder, but it was just another citizen.

"Transferred from another car." I quickly replied as the train slowed to a stop at what appeared to be the last station.

"Well," the citizen said as he picked up his briefcase and stepped onto the platform, "End of the line, friend."

"So it is…" I mused as I saw the Combine President's face on an unnecessarily large plasma monitor, welcoming us to 'City 17, one of our finest remaining urban establishments.' It was a prison camp that looked like a city. As I caught up to the man whom I had spoken to on the train, a Civil Protection officer stopped him, waving his Stunstick. Civil Protection was the image of fear for these poor citizens. Their faces were hidden under white gas masks with polarized lenses and voice filters so you couldn't tell who they were. Anyone could be an undercover CP agent. They were clad in black, their torsos covered in Kevlar, and their weapon of choice, the Stunstick, could deliver 10,000 volts of electric shock from the slightest contact with human skin or clothing.

"What's in the bag?" the CP officer demanded in the filtered, robotic drawl of all Combine forces.

"Clothes," the man replied, " A couple of spare sets of civvies, that's it."

"Show me." the CP officer pointed his Stunstick at the briefcase.

The citizen opened the briefcase, and there was only a spare set of civvies, just like he had said. Something slipped out of his pocket as he bent over to pick up the briefcase; it looked like a blank slip of paper.

"What is that?" the CP officer inquired.

"It's nothing." the man went to pick the slip of paper up. The CP officer stepped on his wrist, and grabbed the paper before the other man could. He unfolded it, and there was a Greek Lambda symbol on the inside. It was the symbol of the Resistance.

"Resistance!" the officer yelled, and clubbed the man in the face with his Stunstick. Four CP officers seemingly came out of nowhere and dragged him away. I kept walking. I wanted to fight them, but there was no way I would win without a weapon. As I neared the security checkpoint, I heard some guy telling me not to drink the water, that they put something in it to make you forget how you got here. I thanked him, and stepped up to the screening area. Instantly, the gates shut in front of and behind me. A camera popped out of its slot in the wall, and started taking pictures.

_Do they know who I am?_ I thought to myself.

A CP officer came through a door marked "Security," and said, "You, citizen. Come with me."

_Shit._

As I followed him down the hallway, I heard a familiar voice. It was the man from the train; his voice was coming from the room next to me. He was strapped to a chair, being interrogated by two CP officers.

"This must be a mistake," he stammered, terrified, "I've got an immigration pass just like everyone else." Before I could hear any more, one of the CP officers slid the shutter over the viewing slot in the door. Once again, I kept walking, cursing myself for not being able to do anything to help him. The CP officer led me into the adjacent room. I didn't like what I saw. An interrogation chair with dried blood on the wall behind it, and a security console on the other side of the room. Another CP officer was already in the room.

"Need any help with this one?" he asked.

"No, I'm good." my original escort replied. I was surprised to say the least, and I was even more confused when he shut off the security cameras.

"I'm going to need some privacy for this," he said while chuckling to himself. I knew I could take him down if it was just the two of us. I was about to jump on him when he pulled his mask off.

"Now about that beer I owe you…" he said. I froze. It was Barney Calhoun, my old partner at Black Mesa.

"My God," I said, letting out a breath I didn't realize I had been holding, "You scared the hell out of me."

"Sorry for the scare Gordon, but I had to put on a show for the cameras; I'm way down on my beating quota. I've been working undercover with Civil Protection and I've been feeding intel to the Resistance for months. Hold on a sec." He punched in a code on the security console, and the screen was filled with yet another familiar face. Dr. Isaac Kleiner, another survivor of the Black Mesa Incident.

"Yes, Barney, what is it? I'm very pressed for time." Kleiner said in his usual nasal tone and impatient manner.

"Hey, Doc, I've got a guest for you," Barney replied, and stepped aside to let me into Kleiner's field of view.

"Great Scott! It's Gordon Freeman!" the scientist exclaimed.

"I just saved his life. If any other CP guy had caught him, he'd be on the express to Nova Prospekt right now."

"Gordon," Kleiner turned back to me, "I need you to get to my lab as quickly as you can. I need your help with something very important."

"I'm on my way." I said.

"My lab is about two miles away from where you are now," the doctor clarified, "I'll get some Resistance members in position to periodically guide you along the way."

"Thanks, I appreciate it," I replied.

"Oh, and Gordon?" Kleiner raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"Good to see you."

"Likewise, Kleiner."

Just a few seconds after Barney cut the vid link; there was a loud pounding at the door. The smile instantly disappeared from Barney's face.

"Aw, man, that's just what I was afraid of! Get out of here, Gordon, before you blow my cover!"

"How?"

"Back door!" Barney replied as he punched in the combo for the lock. I didn't say anything; I just walked through the doorway as he told me what to do, "Climb the ladder, then jump out the window. You might need to stack a few crates to reach it." He shut the door, and I started climbing. Barney was right about the window, it was seven feet off the ground. I pulled over an empty crate or two to get a better view. Fortunately, I saw a perfect path down. I jumped for it, grabbed onto a fire escape ladder on the other side of the alley, and climbed as far down as I could. There was still a large enough drop to make me worry, so I jumped across the alley again, landing on my side against a dumpster. I rolled off of it and onto the ground. Making sure to look completely calm, natural, and to give any CP units a wide berth, I walked out into the street. The Combine President's voice was soft but persistent, and it was always in your head whenever you walked outside. The loudspeakers were bad enough, but the Combine had installed two-hundred-inch plasma monitors all around the city to magnify the effects.

"I understand that some of you may have questions which need answering," he continued blithely spitting Combine propaganda, "When will the Combine turn off the Suppression Field and allow us to reproduce? To fully understand the intentions of the Combine, one must view them as our benefactors, not our oppressors. To better ourselves as a species, we must push past our primal instincts. The Combine has given us the tools to succeed in this task, and the Suppression Field is one of them. To advance as a species, to achieve the next phase of our evolution, we must forget one of our most troubling urges: the urge to reproduce. For the first time, as a species, immortality is within our grasp." I wasn't even listening, I was doing my best to shut the voice out, but it still clung to my brain like a tumor.

As I rounded a corner, I saw two citizens standing out in the cold, shivering. I decided that even if I couldn't make things better for them, I could at least ease my own conscience by offering them some form of comfort. We were all human beings, we were all in this together, and I would help whomever I could, no matter who they were.

"Is anything wrong here?" I asked as I approached them.

"What do you want?" one of them snapped, "We have enough problems."

"I'm sorry," I said as I turned to walk away, "I just wanted to see if I could help a fellow citizen."

"Sir," the other guy put a hand on my shoulder, "Please excuse my friend. We're just a little on edge; Civil Protection is tightening security lately."

"It's alright," I said, turning around and facing them again, "We're all in the same hole, right?"

"I guess so," the first guy said, "They're raiding some of the apartments in the building; it's hitting a lot closer to home than the other raids."

"What?" my heart rate quickened, "They're raiding the apartment building?"

"Yeah," his friend replied, "Something about a citywide crackdown. They're calling it…" he struggled to remember the name, "I think it was… 'Lambda Locator?' Yeah, that's it!"

I felt a cold sweat break out on the back of my neck, "Do you know what a Lambda is?"

"Isn't it a Greek symbol or something?" the first guy took a guess.

"Yes, it is," I confirmed, "But it's also the symbol of the Resistance."

The two citizens froze. One of them put an arm around my shoulder. "It's not safe to use that word in City 17."

"Trust me," I said in a solid tone, "The Lambda will topple the Citadel."

"Oh my God," his eyes popped open wide, "You're Gordon Freeman."

His friend eyed a CP officer who was getting a bit too curious for his liking. "Come on," he led me toward the apartment building's door. He opened the door, but didn't go in with me. "That CP unit knows who you are. He's already called it in, so there are probably at least two dozen backup officers converging on this building. Go up the stairs for two flights, and then head to room 305. Knock six times and they should let you in. Tell them they're about to be overrun and they'll lead you to their escape route."

All I could say was, "Thank you." These two men whom I had only known for all of sixty seconds were about to sacrifice their lives for me.

I followed the man's instructions to the letter, and sure enough, someone pulled me through the door.

I cut right to the chase, "Civil Protection is about to bust down this door. You need to get out of here now."

The woman who pulled me through the door didn't seem convinced. "And why should we trust you?"

I looked her dead in the eyes, "Because I'm Gordon Freeman."

Everybody in the room froze and turned to get a look at me. Looks of hope glimmered in their eyes for what was probably the first time in months. The Resistance was falling apart, but I was going to change that. A loud pounding on the door and robotic, drawling radio chatter ruined the moment.

"Go," she said, "Through the door on the far side of the room. Head up the stairs and to the roof; we laid out some planks between this building and the next one. Walk across them, turn left, and stick to the wall. Go through the open window, down the stairs, and to the elevator."

"I'm on it," I said, "And thank y–"

"_Go!"_ she said as the lead CP officer kicked in the door. The door flew off of its hinges and slammed into her, knocking her to the floor. Four Civil Protection agents swarmed into the room, indiscriminately shooting everybody. In just a few short seconds, the only one left was the woman who had challenged me when I first entered the room. She was just now pushing herself off of the floor, dazed and injured. One of the CP officers raised his weapon. He was about to fire when a voice from outside the room stopped him.

"No!" the man said as he walked into the room.

"Commissioner Thorn, sir!" the CP agents snapped off salutes as he entered. He wore a CP uniform, but he was unmasked. Only Combine officers and high-up Civil Protection didn't wear masks. The Combine may be a faceless enemy, but they wanted their upper echelon to instill fear. Fear was best associated with faces, and this particular man exemplified that. He carried a .357 magnum, a powerful sidearm reserved for only the most experienced Civil Protection officers. The quadruple golden stripes on his left sleeve denoted his position as City 17's police commissioner. He was a raven-haired, blue-eyed, heartless son of a bitch with a scraggly scar that began just under his left eye and traced itself over his nose to his right cheekbone. He pulled out his revolver and pointed it at the back of the woman's neck, preparing to deliver an execution shot. Just as he was about to fire, something evil shone in his eyes and he second-guessed the shot. He holstered his revolver, grabbed her by the throat, and dragged her over to the window.

He lifted her off of the ground, snarled, and said, "The Resistance shall fall."

Something snapped inside me. Maybe it was the desire to eliminate a high-value target, or maybe it was hatred for the Combine. Either way, I was not going to stand on the sidelines and watch the Combine murder another human being again. Ever.

I quietly grabbed the kitchen knife that was lying on the table in front of me. Silently approaching the Civil Protection team, I pulled the nearest officer down to the floor and drove the knife through the left lens of his mask. At the same time, I wrenched the officer's sidearm from his grip.

The Five-seveN was the standard-issue weapon of all Civil Protection officers. The weapon carried a twenty round magazine and fired 5.7mm rounds. Its high rate of fire coupled with its accuracy and stopping power made it a formidable weapon against groups of enemies.

I didn't have time to engage any of the other CP officers, so I turned the gun on the commissioner. A look of shock and hate registered on his face as he realized whom he was facing.

"Gordon Freeman!" he shouted. Glaring into his eyes, I fired twice. His body armor ensured that neither of the slugs caused any damage, but they did knock the wind out of him and cause him to drop the Resistance woman. That was all I needed.

"Come on!" I hoisted her off the floor and started pulling her along behind me. We ran up the stairs to the roof. Another Resistance fighter shut the door behind us as soon as we stepped onto the roof.

"Don't worry about me," the fighter said as he ushered us across the roof, "Just keep going!" He pressed himself against the wall right next to the door. He was holding a section of lead pipe in his hand, intending to use it as a last-ditch weapon. He showed no mercy to the CP officer that bashed down the door, swinging the pipe into the back of his head. Something snapped, and the officer went down. We had barely made it across the roof when we started hearing sporadic pistol shots. A couple of rounds whizzed by so close to my ear that I could hear the wind whistling. It unnerved me a little, but I kept my composure. We were on the other side of the roof, and the gap to the adjacent building was only six or seven feet wide.

"Jump for it!" I said as I leaped across the gap. I felt something hot slice across my wrist right before we landed.

_Damn,_ I thought, _Lucky shot._ We kept running; the door was just a few feet away. I heard a helicopter, which only made me run faster. The only good thing was that Civil Protection had stopped shooting because we were out of range. Only now they were bringing in more guys, right on top of us by the looks of it. I opened the roof access door and we ran inside. Boots were thudding along the roof as we ran down the stairs.

"Are you okay?" I said over my shoulder.

"Yeah," the woman replied, "I'm fine; I just need to catch my breath." She sounded terrified, but relieved that I was there. I must mean a lot to these people.

"I'll go check out the next room, and then I'll come back for you."

She noticed the spot where the bullet had nicked my wrist. "Gordon, your arm…"

"I'm fine," I replied, "it just grazed me."

"If you say so," she still sounded concerned.

"I'll be right back," I said as I opened the door. The room was empty, save for a concrete pillar in the middle. There were two wide empty window frames on the far end of the room, and there was a door on either side. I had barely closed the door behind me when two Civil Protection agents roped in through the empty window frames.

One of them pulled his Stunstick and said, "Target spotted, moving in." His partner drew his Five-seveN. I didn't have time to pull out my own weapon, so I made a run for the door to my right. A third CP officer kicked the door open right in front of me. I spun around and ran for the other door, but two more officers bashed it down and moved in. I was completely surrounded. Grimacing, I raised my hands.

"On your knees," commanded one of the officers. I complied, struggling to think of a way out of this mess. The answer came when my Resistance friend tackled one of the CP agents and threw an uppercut into his jaw, knocking him out cold. I took the moment of confusion to knee the officer in front of me in the groin. As he bent over in pain, I kicked him in the face and put him out of the fight. Another CP officer came at me from the right with his Stunstick. I turned to face him and crescent kicked him in the side of the head, sending him flying headfirst into the concrete wall. A fourth agent came out of nowhere and grabbed me in a headlock. I struggled to escape, but my partner lent a hand by jabbing a fallen officer's Stunstick into his right armpit, sending him to the floor.

"Hey, he was mine," I complained.

"Gotta be quicker next time," she winked at me.

Now there was only one left.

He went for his radio. I charged at him, but he still managed to get a warning off.

"Target is armed and dangerous, request reinforcement!"

Thankfully, he was stupid enough to try to pull his Stunstick.

I decided to give him a chance. "I wouldn't do that if I were you," I growled. He came at me anyway, swinging his Stunstick like a madman. I grabbed his wrist and squeezed the tendons, forcing him to drop the Stunstick. I ripped off his mask and stared him dead in the eyes.

"This is for every person you have killed, hurt, and dehumanized," I said with malice. I raised my right fist, put as much force behind it as I could, and punched him square in the nose, knocking him unconscious and flat on his ass.

"Thanks," I said as I turned to the Resistance woman.

"No problem," she said, "I'm Alyx, by the way."

"Alyx…" I racked my brain for a few seconds to put the pieces together, "As in Alyx Vance?"

"Bingo!" she smiled.

"Isn't Eli Vance your father?"

"So you've heard of him," she nodded, "He's the leader of the Resistance. And he's very interested in speaking with you."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well there we go, my first chapter polished and ready for the showroom. Go out and make me proud, buddy! Commissioner Thorn is one of the OC's I talked about earlier, and I plan to make him Gordon's nemesis of sorts. I have some dark and nasty things planned for the Commissioner, but I'm not saying anything else for now :). I know some of you will complain about how I introduced Alyx in a completely different way and how I made the hand-to-hand fight completely different as well, but those are a couple of the changes I mentioned (scroll to top if you don't recall). I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter nonetheless; we're only just getting started here!

Cheers,

_SergeantLawson_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: A Red Letter Day

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Welcome to chapter two! I don't really have much to say about this one. So, uh… enjoy? :/

Alyx hit the button on the cargo lift. The elevator lurched, and we started descending. The ride down was awkwardly silent, as if we both expected Civil Protection to start cutting through the roof at any moment. When we reached the bottom we both relaxed, and Alyx started chattering up a storm.

"So…" she began in an attempt to make conversation, "my father was one of your co-workers at Black Mesa, right?"

"Yes," I briefly replied.

"You remember _him_ from Black Mesa, don't you?" she said as we stopped in front of a faded poster of the Combine President with the Combine insignia in the background. I held back the urge to spit on it. I must have looked fairly pissed off, because Alyx shook her head and chuckled when she looked at me. "Don't get my dad started on Dr. Breen," she said as she pried open a power box. At least it looked like a power box. Closer inspection revealed a tiny black button that should not have been there. When Alyx pushed it, the wall behind the poster split, revealing a hidden passageway.

"Nice," I commented whilst running my hand along the bricks, "This panel is seamless."

"You can thank Izzy for that," replied Alyx, referring to Dr. Kleiner's nickname. Barney had come up with it for the express purpose of getting under the doctor's skin, and it had not failed him yet.

We kept walking, Alyx making the occasional comment as she guided me through the labyrinth of passageways. This place was a maze; it was obviously designed with the intent of buying any Resistance personnel inside some time to escape if Civil Protection ever found the fake wall panel.

At some point she had brought up City 17's 'railway system,' a Resistance operation with the intention of getting people out of the cities and to Resistance bases and outposts. City 17's exodus route was one of the most dangerous, but it did lead to the most heavily fortified Resistance base: Black Mesa East. It was the birthplace of the Resistance, and while the Combine knew of its location, they had no idea what was going on inside. "For years we've had to send citizen after citizen through the railway system, and we don't know how many of them died trying to get through. Today we're finally on the verge of having a better way."

Eventually we stopped again, this time by a vending machine. "What's going to happen this time," I asked sarcastically, "Is the vending machine going to pop out of the wall?" Alyx elbowed me in the side. Surprisingly, it did exactly what I expected. Alyx inserted a quarter into the vending machine, it spat the change back out, and the vending machine swung aside like a door. Behind it was Kleiner's lab.

"Ah, there you are, Gordon," Kleiner made no attempt for a handshake; he was a bit antisocial.

"So, doc, what's this big project I've been hearing about?" I asked.

Kleiner opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. His hesitance told me it was probably something to do with the Black Mesa Incident.

"It's okay, doc," I reassured him, "You can tell me."

He relaxed. "Very well, Gordon, but you won't like it. Do you remember the teleporter from your old job at Black Mesa?"

"I do," I answered, "It nearly killed me, left Black Mesa in ruins, allowed the Combine to take over Earth, and left our planet under a terror state. So, about this teleporter…"

"Eh, well…" Kleiner shied away a little, "I believe I have finally perfected it. And this time we have a direct, closed link between two nodes. No unknowns or variables this time, Gordon. I promise."

"Okay," this offered me virtually no comfort, "So what's the destination?"

"Black Mesa East," the scientist replied.

While I was still processing all of this, Barney came running into the lab. "Damn, Gordon, you really stirred up the hive. Overwatch is looking everywhere for you!"

Kleiner raised a finger, "All the more reason why we need to get him out of City 17!"

"Well since he's not taking the canals, we might as well get him out of his civvies," Barney suggested.

"Well what am I going to change into?" I asked.

"Gordon, I have a present for you," Kleiner said all-knowingly as he walked over to a door and punched in the combination.

Barney stood by the door and jerked his thumb towards the side room, "You'll never guess what's in here."

When Kleiner opened the door, a headcrab jumped out and latched onto Barney's face. He immediately started grabbing at it, desperately trying to pull it away.

"Ow, dammit, get it off me!" he said as the headcrab continued scratching at his face. Alyx did her best not to laugh, but seeing Barney humiliated was just too amusing to bear.

"Lamarr, come here!" Kleiner attempted to entice the headcrab away from Barney's head. Eventually, the headcrab complied, but it didn't hesitate giving Barney an angry hiss along the way.

"I thought you got rid of that pest!" Barney glared at Dr. Kleiner.

Kleiner ignored him, and bent his head down, "Up here, my pet. Hop up." The headcrab completely ignored him, instead leaping up onto the loft above Kleiner. He tried in vain to calm his pet down, "Lamarr, no! Those are quite fragile!" he said just before everyone in the room heard delicate and expensive-sounding things breaking.

"Oh, dear!" the doctor seemed physically wounded by the disappearance of his pet headcrab, "Now it will take me a week to coax her out of there!"

"Longer, if we're lucky," Barney muttered under his breath.

Alyx raised an eyebrow at him, "Not an animal person, Barney?"

He shivered and shook his head. I made a mental note to find out why he hated animals so much.

"Gordon," Kleiner turned back to me, "Why don't you try on your HEV Suit now?"

I complied, slipping into the Black Mesa Anti-Radiation and Hazardous Environments Suit. Everyone called it the HEV for short. The suit provides head-to-toe protection to the wearer, isolating him or her from almost any environmental conditions. The heating and cooling gel that ran the length of the suit not only provided flexibility retention and support, but also comfort from all but the most extreme weather conditions. A heads-up display, or HUD, was housed inside the helmet's visor. The HUD provides a host of information, and the option to turn off certain HUD features allows for a wider and less cluttered field of vision. The only things I kept on the HUD were the essentials: vital statistics, suit charge level, and supply levels. The supply levels feature adjusted to whatever the user was currently holding. If I were holding a battery-powered accessory, the readout would give me the amount of remaining power, as well as projected usage time before the object ran dead. The only reason I keep it on my HUD was because of something I found out accidentally during the Black Mesa Incident: if the user was holding a firearm, the readout would scan the inside of the gun and the length of the suit, and display the amount of ammunition left in the current magazine, as well as any extra ammunition the user was carrying. This had proven essential to my survival. The vital statistics were a bit trippy with the previous version of the HEV Suit, the Mk IV, because they only displayed a color-coded bar: green, yellow, orange, red, or black, depending on the user's health and injuries. The new HEV Mk V Suit, which I was currently wearing, had made some major improvements in that particular department. Now the display was divided into three categories, one above the other: circulatory, nervous, and oxygenic. The circulatory functions monitored my blood flow, the nervous functions monitored my nervous system and kept a close lookout for any seizures or neurotoxins, and the oxygenic functions monitored my body's oxygen intake to ensure I was getting enough air. On top of that, the medical systems were amazing. If I suffered a serious flesh wound, fracture, or other injury, the suit would inject morphine into the injured area and begin administering short-term medical procedures, numbing the pain and allowing me to keep fighting. The neurotoxin defense mechanisms had saved my life countless times against the Combine's chemical and biological weapons. Hell, they had even added a radiation detector. Another thing that had proven useful was the suit's shielding systems. The suit had been rigged to siphon power from Combine energy chargers, which in turn powered the suit's shields. The shields had originally been designed to block minor amounts of radiation and other hazardous materials, but my experience against the Combine had revealed that the shields were also very good at blocking or dramatically slowing projectiles, especially bullets. Even if a round punched through my shields, it would have been slowed enough to not have much of an effect.

"I see your HEV Suit still fits you like a glove… at least, the glove parts do," Kleiner remarked in an attempt at a joke that didn't quite land. He paused for a moment, then continued, "Anyway, let me acquaint you with the basics. Ahem…" Dr. Kleiner began reading from an instruction manual, "The Mk V Hazardous Environment Suit has been redesigned for comfort and utility…" he furrowed his brows and took a closer look at the page he was reading from, "Oh, dear; this is rather complicated. Now, Gordon, listen carefully–"

"Hang on a second, doc," Barney held up a hand and adjusted the volume on his radio so everyone could hear.

The female British tone of the Sector 17 Overwatch Voice was on the other end of the receiver, "Attention, Protection Team. Elusive suspect has de-serviced several Protection Units. Suspect identification: Freeman. Status: Extremely dangerous. Use of lethal force authorized. Terminate suspect on sight. Overwatch out."

The mood in Kleiner's lab darkened, and it only soured more when we heard the reply, "Overwatch, this is Commissioner Thorn. Orders received and understood. Relaying orders to Protection Team leaders. Citywide sweep will commence immediately. Primary sweep unit: City Scanners. All available units will retaliate with lethal force as instructed upon suspect detection. Overwatch, how copy?"

"City 17 Commissioner, Overwatch copies all. Overwatch out."

"Solid copy, Overwatch. Commissioner Thorn out."

Kleiner instantly cut to the chase. "Gordon, the teleporter leaves a distinct energy signature when activated. If we activate it once, the Combine will notice the particle shift, but they will not know its location. If we activate it twice, the Combine will lock on to its coordinates and send every CP unit in City 17 our way!"

I managed to guess what he was thinking, "So you're saying one of us gets to go through the teleporter, while the other has to take the canals?"

"Precisely."

Barney tapped me on the shoulder. "Gordon, I have to get back on my shift. If Civil Protection didn't know I was gone before, they'll definitely know if I'm not where I should be sixty seconds from now." He sprinted off, not waiting for a reply.

"I'll go though the Canals," I said flatly, but Alyx wouldn't have it.

"No!" she protested, "I know City 17 like the back of my hand, and you're far too valuable to the Resistance."

"Alyx," I took on an oddly soft tone, "I have my HEV Suit, so I'll have a much better chance of survival. Even if I think I'm getting lost, there are definitely going to be Resistance outposts along the way to guide me along. And if I'm going to make any difference in this war, I can't be taking the easy route. We need to send a message to the Combine. We need to meet them head-on, knock them down and make sure they don't get back up. The Uprising won't start until we do something big, and this could be it. And if nothing else, I've been dying to knock some CP heads together."

Alyx stayed rooted to the ground for what felt like hours, but finally she said, "Fine, but be careful. If you get yourself killed I'm going to be pissed."

"I'm always careful, aren't I?" I said with a grin as I opened the door and walked out into the sunlight. I had barely walked ten meters before some eagle-eyed CP officer spotted me, radioed for backup, and started shooting.

_Why does everybody hate the guy with the glasses?_ I asked myself as I drew my Five-seveN.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: So that's chapter two banged out (12-year-olds laugh). I tried to leave this one unaltered, so I hope I did a good job. Don't worry, the shit's gonna hit the fan and splatter everywhere as soon as chapter three starts. As always, reviews are appreciated.

Cheers,

_SergeantLawson_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Route Kanal

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Ahh, back at the keyboard. You guys have no idea how good it feels to stare at a screen two feet from my face for hours on end while my ass goes numb… alright, who am I kidding? I'm back, everyone! I know it's been a while, but I came through again. I could have made this chapter about four pages longer with all the combat material I originally wrote, but after reading through it a few times I cut about 30% of it from the final version; it just became repetitive. I've made some changes to the HEV suit's HUD as you will see, but I haven't made it completely back-asswards. Enjoy the chapter; tally up a kill count while you're at it!

I was hiding behind a crumbled brick wall while some Metrocop took potshots at me. The brick wall protected me from his shots; he was only using a Five-seveN. The pistol only fired 5.7mm rounds, so even if a round got through the brick wall it would barely have an effect. However, I realized that my moment of safety would be short-lived, as the guy had already radioed for backup. More firepower would be thrown against me, and they would pick my cover and I apart. I knew I couldn't stay here either, because the fresh CPs would probably come in from the side, cornering and overwhelming me. I had to move, and I had to do it now.

I took a deep breath, loaded a fresh magazine into my Five-seveN, and started running. My HEV Suit's power automatically diverted auxiliary power to speed, increasing my speed by about 5 miles per hour. I was careful not to use auxiliary power unless if it was absolutely necessary; its power supply was finite and ran off of Black Mesa-manufactured power cells, which were only found at Resistance compounds, bases, and outposts. On account of the Combine's heavy presence in Sector 17, Black Mesa East was the only Resistance compound in the entire Sector, aside from small mobile camps of two to ten members each. It would be an interesting challenge to make it through the Canals on just one battery, but if anyone could do it, I could. Besides, my friends in black would provide all the entertainment I needed.

I made it across the clearing without taking any hits from the CP guy on the bridge; they were generally inexperienced in firefights. I paused before continuing on, and decided to take him down. The mere thought of the indiscriminate beatings Civil Protection conducted on a daily basis was enough to make me pull the trigger. I usually tried to be careful about killing CP agents, because about ten percent of them were forced into service. This time around, I wouldn't be. Commissioner Thorn wouldn't send unwilling conscripts to track down the person they hoped would save them; he would send his best men. Besides, if this guy didn't want to work for Civil Protection, he wouldn't have fired on me in the first place.

Headshots were unrealistic at this range. They may produce instant kills in most cases, but the torso was a larger target and much easier to hit. I drew a bead and pulled the trigger. I didn't blaze away; I waited at least two seconds in between each shot. Not only did this greatly improve my accuracy, it also allowed me to get a rough estimate of how many shots it would take to punch through CP body armor and down the officer. I was very analytical and precise with every situation I confronted; it was hard-wired into my brain. Plus, it helped me conserve ammunition.

It took five shots to kill the officer. I was disappointed; now I knew I would only get three kills per magazine, four if I were lucky. As I filed this information away into my brain, my HEV Suit's shields dropped from 100 to 98. I didn't feel the impact, but I knew someone had just shot me in the back. I spun around and found myself face-to-face with a pair of Metrocops, the first of the officer's backup. I quickly dispatched them with two point-blank headshots.

Before I moved on, I made sure to pull the ammunition out of their guns and inspect their armbands to see what I was up against. Their armbands read c17:p12. The first part stood for "City 17," and the latter part stood for "Patrol 12." Patrol officers were standard CP officers, and thus of little threat to someone with my training and protection, but I didn't feel any more at ease. They were still armed, and they could still kill me.

I was walking along what appeared to be a service corridor; and I did not know what for. The floor was paved, but the large patches of moss that covered nearly is entire surface signified that it had fallen into neglect long ago. To my relief, the corridor was still lit, which meant I would not have to use valuable auxiliary power on my flashlight.

I soon reached the end of the hallway and I could see light through the crack under the heavy steel door. I knew that rushing through the door and into the sunlight would not only blind me for a few seconds, it could also get me killed even if there were any CPs behind the door. I counted to three and slowly opened the door.

When I was about to open the door all the way, I heard a familiar voice, "Patrol 12, this is Commissioner Thorn. Report your position, over."

After a few seconds, a mechanized voice replied, "Commissioner, this is Patrol 15. We are working in conjunction with Patrol 12, but we have lost contact. Presumed KIA, over."

The Commissioner took a deep breath, and then replied, "Well, then why aren't you going after them?"

The CP officer on the other end took the cue to sign off, "10-4, sir. Patrol 15 out."

"Commissioner Thorn out."

I checked my Five-seveN to make sure it was fully loaded, and pushed open the door. I didn't rush out into the line of fire like an idiot, I took cover behind the wall next to the door. As far as I could see, I was only facing down three CPs. They had obviously not had the time for a coordinated offensive, but I knew I would be facing overwhelming odds soon enough. I needed to take down as many of them as I could before they got their act together. I poked my head around the corner to get a more precise picture on their positions. The room in front of me was square, with a second door on the opposite wall. It had no windows and was relatively barren, save for a thick concrete support beam in the center of the room, and a few tables that the CPs had turned on their sides in an attempt to form makeshift cover. One of the officers was concealed behind the beam, and the other two were behind the tables. My 5.7mm pistol couldn't hope to punch through the concrete, so I would have to leave that guy alone for now. I could deal with the other two officers, though, but I didn't want to waste even one bullet firing at the wrong table. I waited until one of them popped his head out from behind one of the tables, and I put two rounds into his head.

To my dismay, I heard the Overwatch Voice once again, "Patrol 15, unit down at Canal Station 6. All available units respond Code 3."

_Damn,_ I thought to myself, _I'll have to finish this up quickly._ Normally I don't take unnecessary risks, but my HEV Suit was fully charged, I was uninjured, and there were only two CPs left. I took a deep breath and sprinted out into the room, which caused one of the CPs to look up. The last thing he saw was the muzzle of my gun. The last remaining officer was smart enough to stay behind his post, but he didn't count on me zigzagging to the other side of the room and connecting with a left hook. The punch knocked him down, but he wasn't out. He shot his foot out and swept my legs, landing me on my back. This time I reacted before he could, pinning him to the floor and digging my forearm into his neck. Before I could line up my Five-seveN and get a shot off, he kneed me in the groin and tried to flip me onto my back. The blow stunned me, but I knocked the wind out of him with a gunshot to the stomach. The shot didn't injure him on account of his Kevlar vest, but it made him falter, which was all I needed. I pressed my Five-seveN against the side of his mask and pulled the trigger.

I got up, dusted myself off, said, "Damage report," and listened to the tinny voice in my ears as I checked the fallen CP officers' pulses and ejected the magazines from their weapons.

**/DIAGNOSTICS/**

**Shields: 94%**

**Auxiliary Power: 99%**

**Injuries: None**

**/end_report/**

To most people that might seem like an excellent performance, but I would disagree. I had no idea how far I had to travel to reach Black Mesa East, but I presumed it was between thirty and fifty miles. I had barely made it 300 meters and my shields had already taken more nicks and cuts than I would have hoped; I was going to have to be extremely careful if I was going to make it through this hellhole alive.

I had taken the CPs' ammunition out of their weapons and was ready to go. I would have stayed to root through their pockets for every last bullet, but I was pressed for time, as there was God knows how many backup units closing in. I didn't run for fear of tiring myself out early on, but I wouldn't hesitate to sprint like a maniac on fire if it came down to it.

I opened the door with my left hand, held my Five-seveN with my right, and started walking up the stairs. I was careful to "clear my corners" as the former US Army liked to say, which essentially meant keeping your head on a swivel and pointing your gun at all possible directions of attack. Soon this tactic paid off, giving me a clean bead on a CP squad that had gone into radio silence in an attempt to catch me off-guard. I didn't hesitate to blaze away at point-blank range, spending my entire magazine but putting down all four CPs in the process. I dropped the clip out of my pistol, inserted a fresh one, and picked through their ammo.

Before I continued any further, I realized it would be inconvenient to have to order my suit's computer to give me a detailed status update after every single firefight, so I took a few moments to adjust my HUD. I tried several different custom configurations but none of them rang true; everything I tried was either too cluttered or sparse. Just as I was about to deal with the inconvenience, I noticed a small tab in the corner of my HUD. I activated it, and it displayed a short list of recommended setups based on the user's situation. The "Emergency/Combat" option was perfect; it displayed shield levels, as well as a pop-up window that briefly appeared to inform the user of any injuries or system failures. I uploaded the settings into my HUD, checked my weapon, and kicked open the door to the train station. I stepped out onto the tracks, and bullets instantly started pinging off of train cars all around me.

Being under fire from an unknown number of enemies really put me on edge, but then something made my day. A vid link window popped up in the upper-right corner of my HUD. It was Alyx.

"They put a vid link in this thing and nobody told me?" I asked.

"Gordon, we've been trying to reach you, and the link just connected. I'll guide you through the-" She was drowned out by the sounds of wild cheering. She rolled her eyes, turned away from the screen, and shouted, "Would you keep it down! I've got Gordon Freeman on the line!"

Someone I couldn't see shouted back over the crowd, "We know, that's why we're going nuts!"

Alyx scoffed, mumbled, "Good God, give me a break," and then turned back to me, "Gordon, I'm going to put you up on our plasma monitor. We'll get a better picture of what's happening _and_ I might get a minute of peace and quiet without these boneheads chasing after me."

I couldn't help laughing at this, but now I needed to stay focused and stay alive more than ever. I was in the eye of the Resistance now, and to see me die would almost certainly convince a large portion of its fighters to surrender. Even better, I would have some motivational support and some additional pairs of eyes.

"Gordon, I'm seeing a lot of CPs inbound to your location," Alyx commented, "I've got twenty… thirty… forty… oh my God, there's at least fifty of them!"

I didn't even break a sweat. I made it this far, and I'd be damned if Civil Protection stopped me now.

"I don't believe this. There has to be at least a quarter of City 17's officers gunning straight for you. They've activated the barriers behind you, so you can't go that way," I looked behind me, and sure enough, there was a towering wall of semi-transparent non-lethal plasma containment field blocking my exit route.

"I've got good news, though," she continued, "They're spread pretty thin, so the best route would be to go straight through them. If you can isolate them into small groups, you should be able to get across the city without too much trouble. As long as you keep moving, they won't be able to attack you in force. I'll guide you through the Canals, but pay attention. Nobody has ever tried the route I'm giving you; it's been considered too dangerous. Go where I tell you to go, don't get caught up in too many firefights, and you should be fine. I'm uploading a nav point to your HUD in case we lose contact."

I was already up and running before she had finished talking. Alyx was right; they were spread fairly thin, because for the first couple of miles I only ran into CPs in groups of two and three. I checked my nav point. _Twenty-five miles to go, Gordon,_ I thought, _your shields aren't even below ninety percent; you can do this._ I was up to my ankles in dirty water; the Canals were a no-admittance area, so they had naturally fallen into disrepair.

Suddenly, a voice cried out, "Help me," I looked left and right, searching for the source. "I'm in the pipes. Is anyone out there? Please, help me!" I looked into the pipe; it was a large air duct, and someone could easily crawl through it. I turned on my suit's flashlight, squinting to see who was inside. It was a Resistance fighter. He was obviously terrified of something, but I couldn't see what. The answer came in the form of sporadic weapons fire and CP radio chatter. The poor guy didn't stand a chance; he had no armor of any kind. The bullets ripped through him like a hot knife through butter. I had started crawling through the pipe as soon as I heard the radio chatter. When the Civil Protection officers pulled the Resistance fighter's body out of the pipe, they were met with something far worse than they could have imagined.

One of the CPs covered the pipe's exit and started shooting, giving his buddies time to run for cover. I quickly dispatched him with a few shots from my Five-seveN, and pushed him away to take care of his friends. The sound of a radio crackling made me jump.

"Station Seven, do you copy?" said the voice on the other end. Combine Vocoders weren't scrambling it, and the caller sounded like he actually cared about what was happening. Plus, the radio had a Lambda spray-painted onto it.

I picked up the headset, "Station Seven was hit. I just found this place, and Civil Protection didn't leave anybody alive."

"Who are you? Identify yourself!" the caller demanded.

"The Combine's worst nightmare." I said before hanging up.

I checked the bodies for pulses and ammunition. Just as I was finishing up, I heard a mechanized groan. It scared the hell out of me; I thought there was a CP right behind me. Fortunately, it was an officer whom I had shot, but apparently failed to take down.

Sprinting over to him and keeping muzzle contact on his forehead, I said in a voice colder than I thought possible, "Why are you doing this?"

The officer reached for his radio and I shot him in the wrist, "I wouldn't do that again," I remarked while shaking my head.

"Orders," the Metrocop replied.

"What are you gaining from this?" I demanded, letting just a bit of malice seep into my tone, "What have you accomplished by doing this?"

"Destroying the Resistance," the CP said triumphantly, as if this were the only thing in life worth doing.

I tried a different approach, "Well I don't know if they've indoctrinated you into erasing your emotions, but I'm willing to bet that some of these men were your friends,"

"Squadmates. Acquaintances. Allies. Friends. Enemies. What's the difference?" the officer asked.

I took a deep breath, "Friendship, like the Resistance, is forged through time, respect, and trust, and it endures through the most blistering heat and the most frostbitten cold. Enemies, like the Combine, are held together by terror and deceit. They rely on fear to live and to stay in power, so they dehumanize us and give us nothing to lose, and therein lies the problem. If you give us nothing to lose, we will eventually fight back, and for just that reason. The human spirit is a very powerful thing, and if you give it the chance, it will overcome any challenge."

"We're not giving it a chance," the officer said decisively.

"Oh, but it's already too late," I said as if the Combine President himself was aware of this, "We're spreading too far and too fast. The Combine's day of reckoning has come." I wasn't going to get anything out of this guy, so I leveled my Five-seveN at his face and pulled the trigger.

I looked around for an exit and saw a ladder. I would have taken the pipes, but crawling through there again would take too long and the Canals would be swarming with Civil Protection squads by then. When I climbed the ladder, a pleasant sight greeted me.

_A Combine machine gun…_ I thought to myself, _and it's unoccupied!_ I couldn't believe my luck, because Alyx came on the radio ten seconds later.

"Gordon, I'm seeing more than twenty CPs inbound," she said, "ETA thirty seconds,"

"Alyx?" I asked her, "You still got me on the big screen?"

"Yeah," she replied, "Why?"

"Do you have two-way audio for the plasma monitor?" I wondered, "If you do, put me on,"

I heard some rustling in the background, then a painfully loud squeak of static, and then Alyx came back on, "Okay, Gordon, you're in," she said.

I raised my voice to address the God-knows-how-many rebels watching me, eyes glued to the screen, "This is Gordon Freeman-" I began, but I was cut off by an overwhelming round of applause from the crowd of fighters. I waited for the applause to die down, and then I continued, "Apparently Civil Protection has a little problem with me trying to escape from Shitty 17," this got some laughs, and I took on a much more serious tone, "And they've got me surrounded… those poor bastards. I don't care what comes around the corner; it's going to eat high-speed armor-piercing Combine-manufactured projectiles."

A lone CP looked down from the street, probably thinking, _who the hell is he talking to,_ and I swung the turret towards him, "Oh, lovely. I was afraid I would have had to ask for volunteers." I squeezed the triggers, and the rounds ripped into him, shredding his body armor and killing him in an instant. I saw a citizen pick up the fallen officer's Stunstick and run at two more CPs. The riot would be put down in a few minutes at most, but in the meantime it would divert some of the officers from my path. All of this was going through my head as I mowed through CP after CP, until finally the chamber clicked empty. There was no point in staying, so I ran. I ran along a twelve-inch-wide ledge, going above the mob of CPs. I took a few more rounds, and my shields dropped to 85. The pipe soon fed into the wall, forcing me to jump back down to street level. I took a quick look around when I landed, finding myself under a bridge and amid several large piles of rubble, each one several feet taller than me.

Knowing that Civil Protection was right behind me, I kept running, hazarding a glance behind me every so often. I didn't hear any boots thundering along behind me, there was no shouting or gunfire, and Alyx didn't come on the radio to warn me about any incoming threats. Of course there was the odd CP or two here and there, but Alyx knew I could handle such a minute threat and didn't bother reporting them. In fact, the only thing that told me I was still in contact with the Resistance was the cheering of the fighters every time I killed a CP officer.

To say the least, this was too easy. I was getting jumpy, constantly expecting an overwhelming ambush. Even my paranoia wasn't enough to alert me to the four CPIF officers roping in through the grate above me. CPIF, or Civil Protection Interdiction Force, is Civil Protection's answer to SWAT and other special task police forces. In order to differentiate them from the rest of the CPs, its officers wear navy blue uniforms. Instead of wearing grey armbands like regular CPs, they wore orange armbands with "CPIF" imprinted on them in white. Their gas masks have a thick orange stripe running from the left jawbone, up to the bridge of the nose, and then back down to the right jawbone. CPIF units are seasoned officers within the Civil Protection system, and are handpicked by the City Commissioner to join its elite ranks. Their officers are rewarded with military-grade weapons and higher-grade Kevlar body armor. They are much more coordinated, accurate, and deadly than standard Civil Protection officers. When the CPIF was created, Overwatch gave them a choice of weapon between the MP5 and the MP7. The City Commissioners agreed on the MP7; arguing that although it packed less of a punch, the gun carried a 45-round magazine, as opposed to the 30-round magazine of the MP5. Its higher rate of fire and lower recoil allow the user to pour fire downrange alarmingly quickly, resulting in high efficiency against groups of hostiles. It would be perfect for the situation I was stuck in.

I cut down the first guy before he could react, but the other three immediately opened fire, forcing me behind cover. There was nothing I could do against that kind of firepower without risking significant damage to my shields, and these guys wouldn't be stupid enough to take me on in hand-to-hand combat. I had no other option but to take them head-on, or their backup units would arrive and kill me while I was sitting behind this rock. I didn't give myself time to think about it. I laid down half a magazine to keep their heads down, taking one of them down in the process. The remaining two gave me all they had when I rushed them. I managed to gun one of them down, but the other one was too close for comfort. I grabbed him in a headlock, put my Five-seveN to the side of his head, and pulled the trigger.

I took an officer's MP7 and policed their ammo. These guys always deployed ready for a prolonged firefight, so I had over 250 rounds of ammo when I was done. It turns out I finished searching the corpses just in time, because the mob of fifty CPs caught up to me the instant I finished. I didn't waste any time expending a magazine into the mass of Metrocops to whittle down the horde, dropping seven or eight of them. Seeing nearly a fifth of their forces destroyed in a matter of seconds, the remaining forces retreated.

Alyx came back on the radio when I ran back out into the canals. "Gordon, you're almost there. I've had our station at the end of the Canals prepare a hovercraft for you; the rest of the route to Black Mesa East is over water."

"Finally," I said, relieved, "I can get these CPs off my back."

"I wouldn't count on it, Gordon," she replied, "Civil Protection mans nearly the entire route. We would have had a better plan, but we had no idea you were coming."

"Actually, now that I think about it, that's a good thing," I answered.

Alyx raised an eyebrow, "Uh… was that a joke?" she asked, confused.

"No," I said, "It gives me a chance to beat up more CPs." This got some laughs out of the fighters, but Alyx quickly silenced them, suddenly looking worried.

"Gordon, we've got–" she began.

"Oh, shit!" I yelled, taking off at full speed for the Resistance outpost. When I turned a corner and arrived at the remote hideout, I saw that everyone was dead. Luckily, Civil Protection hadn't taken the Airboat. I jumped in and started the engine, remembering to report the outpost's demise. As soon as the motors were fully powered, I gunned the throttle, rocketing away from City 17 and its Civil Protection agents. My troubles weren't over yet, though: the mechanical sounds of spinning rotor blades and a chain gun spewing rounds into the water all around the Airboat told me that no matter how fast I went, the Combine Hunter-Chopper would always be close behind.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Chapter three done and dusted; I hope you guys liked it! Chapter four is going to be considerably longer, so it might take a while for me to write it up. As always; review, favorite, follow, yadda yadda yadda. I would also like some reader opinions on what I should do for later chapters ("Highway 17" and onwards). Suggestions are welcome and very much appreciated, PM me if you're interested!

Cheers,

_SergeantLawson_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Water Hazard

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay, I know some of you won't care too much for this chapter. I've kept the basic concept the same (Gordon getting to Black Mesa East over water and the Hunter-Chopper chasing him), but other than that I've almost completely rewritten the entire thing. Here's hoping you guys won't hate me for it, or worse; stop reading entirely.

I had never really had time to think of a plan, not with the Hunter-Chopper shooting at me. On top of that, I had to keep an eye out for Civil Protection blockades. Not that I really needed a plan anyway; I knew where I was going. If I got lost, there was always a semi-transparent golden arrow pointing towards Black Mesa East. There were a few times early on when I could have used a GPS or some input from Alyx, but there jamming signal coming from the Combine helicopter generated too much interference for any from of satellite communications to get through.

After two or three minutes of this game of cat-and-mouse, I noticed a red LED light on the hovercraft's dashboard… right on the fuel gauge. Damn. The hovercraft had a full tank when I had left the Resistance outpost. I hazarded a glance behind me at the fuel tanks, and spotted a pair of holes with diesel fuel squirting out of them. Apparently that Hunter-Chopper was going to make my life miserable in more ways than one.

With the fuel tank leaks in play, it wasn't long before the Airboat's engine started coughing and spluttering. I figured I could get another quarter of a mile out of the tank's remnants before it ran completely bone-dry. Luckily there was a dock ahead, but Civil Protection controlled it. Great. The helicopter's pilot must have already radioed ahead to the outpost, because I was met with a wall of gunfire when I coasted up to the dock. At the same time, a klaxon started blaring and massive gates lowered on either side of me, blocking any forward progress. I ducked behind the dashboard, using the meager protection that it offered me from their bullets. I couldn't keep moving with the holes in my fuel tank, so I had to dock, which meant exposing my suit to yet more shield damage. I didn't really have much of a choice in the first place, so I gunned straight for the dock as I emptied my Five-seveN to keep their heads down. They were shooting at me from behind a chain-link fence higher up on the compound, which meant they were unable to get a good firing arc on me once I parked underneath them. To add to my advantage, the compound's high ground hung over by about twenty feet, which ensured the safety of my Airboat. Once I had parked my Airboat, I cut the engines and took the ignition chip with me.

I kept to the side of the dock, shuffling my way to a door marked "Authorized Personnel Only." I pulled out my MP7, loaded a fresh magazine, and opened the door. I was met with a pair of CPIF officers guarding a Combine lieutenant. I aimed for the head, and the two CPIF guys went down instantly. I saw the lieutenant reaching for his .357, so I fired a couple of rounds past his head.

"I wouldn't do that again if I were you," I said as I pinned him to the desk with my forearm and confiscated his .357 revolver. I then let him back up and immediately started questioning him, "Identify yourself,"

"You first," he snarled.

"Gordon Freeman, Earth Resistance," I saw the color drain from his face, "Designation Two-Two-Niner-Delta."

"First Lieutenant Vickers, Combine Overwatch, Sector 17, Zone Bravo-3," he suddenly seemed much more cooperative. However, there was one thing the Combine had a nasty habit of doing to screw with enemy interrogators.

"Have you been through memory replacement?" I asked.

"I have," the lieutenant replied with a hint of pride.

_Dammit,_ I wanted to punch something, _now I can't rely on anything this guy says. Whatever he tells me is just going to be a load of crap._ I debated on whether to shoot him, but ultimately decided against it. Hostages are valuable, and so are human shields. I got him in a headlock and pressed by Five-seveN to his temple.

"If you try anything, I will shoot you," I hissed into his ear. I opened the door and showed the squad of CPs my hostage. Strangely, they all let me past, but they still kept me in their sights. Any other man would have thought everything was going his way, but I knew better. They were allowing me to proceed, but they would just shoot me in the back once I had gone past. My suspicions were confirmed when a sniper round struck the concrete to my left. I pulled the trigger, dropped the dead lieutenant, and ducked behind cover. I had no weapons with sufficient range to kill the sniper, so I would have to dart from cover point to cover point. Fortunately, I had two things going for me. First and foremost, Combine sniper rifles were equipped with a fluorescent blue laser sight, which would conveniently let me know exactly where the sniper was aiming. Second, shipping crates were scattered across the dock; this was probably a Combine supply depot. The crates would provide me with more than adequate cover. All in all, the two hundred yard dash ahead of me would be easier than I thought.

A .50 caliber round punched through the jersey barrier I was currently using as cover and struck my suit. I felt the impact even through my shields, and I didn't like the diagnostics readout.

**/WARNING/**

**SHIELDS: 53%**

**HYDRAULICS SYSTEM FAILURE**

**/end_report/**

Shit. The hydraulics system was what gave me the valuable speed boosts. Fortunately it wouldn't present much of an issue while I was in the Airboat, but I felt a shiver run down my spine when I thought of all the ways it could go wrong on the ground. Grenades, rockets, oncoming vehicles, and even falling debris could all kill me instantly without my high-speed evasive maneuvers. I looked around for anything I could use, and I remembered the late Lieutenant Vickers. I checked his pockets and found nothing, but I was overjoyed when I searched his pack. There was a small pouch full of .357 magnum rounds, a confiscated HEV charge battery, and an M83 grenade. HEV charge batteries were small and rectangular in shape, colored black, and had small LED lights embedded throughout their surface. The batteries were meant for emergency field use only, as they only restored a limited amount of power to the suit. Each battery could restore thirteen to eighteen percent of the suit's shields; and if the shields were fully charged, the power would be used to restore power to other functions.

I checked to be sure the CPs were still grouped relatively close together, crossed my fingers, and pulled the pin on the M83. The resulting explosion killed most of the CPs, and the remaining shrapnel cut through pipes and wires. The wires jumped around, smoking and sizzling, while the breached pipes belched steam in every direction. The resulting cloud of smoke and steam blinded the surviving officers. The occasional flashes of blue and orange told me when a CP had been electrified.

I suddenly realized the Combine sniper must have been trying to figure out what the hell just happened, so I took my chance and broke into a full sprint for the door on the other side of the dock. The sniper only realized I was gone when the Hunter-Chopper started shooting at me, and by then I was already halfway there. He cracked three rounds off in quick succession, trying to score another hit before I disappeared. The first two landed behind me, and the third blew a handful of concrete into the air. A fourth armor-piercing round ripped through the door I had just flung open, three inches from my face. I looked around the room and spotted a supply crate. I found a crowbar and used it to pry open the crate. Inside were a bundle of Five-seveN ammunition and a Combine radio transmitter. Combine radio transmitters hooked around the wearer's ear like a Bluetooth device, save for a small microphone extending from the earpiece. I set the transmitter's frequency to City 17 Metropolitan/River patrol so I could have a leg up on any Combine troop movements.

I checked my weapons before I proceeded, noticing I was down to three magazines for my MP7. As I was about to go on I remembered the crowbar. The crowbar had become closely associated with me during and after the Black Mesa Incident, on the account that I had defended myself from waves of Combine bio-forms using only a crowbar until a security team showed up to get me out of there. These "bio-forms" were my former Black Mesa co-workers who had fallen victim to the Combine's first biological weaponry assault, infected by odd parasitic life forms called "headcrabs." After a short period they… changed. Their bodies literally turned inside out as they were mutated into disturbing new forms. I didn't like to think about it too much; I hope they don't remember who they were. Either way, I knew that seeing me paired with the crowbar would put a smile on any Resistance fighter's face.

I heard Combine radio chatter nearby, "Commissioner, this is CPIF unit 6. Target last engaged at supply dock Three-Seven-Delta. Sweeping area, over." I slammed a fresh clip into my MP7 just as the squad came around the corner. I fired in short bursts due to my lack of ammunition, moving from side to side as I unloaded on them. The firefight lasted less than a minute, and I had only used one magazine to kill all four guys. I heard more CPs on the other side of the door behind me, trying to cut through it with blowtorches. I didn't have time to gather ammunition from the dead cops, so I ran deeper into the building. I heard a muffled _thump_ and the door crashing to the floor behind me.

I realized I would have to take on whatever was following me sooner or later if I wanted to get out of here, and I decided sooner was better than later. I dropped to one knee around a corner and took a deep breath. I came around the corner prepared for anything… or so I thought. I was definitely _not_ prepared for the CPIF team with an assault shield twenty feet from me. I made no attempt to shoot through or around the heavy shield; it would require a grenade or similar explosion to even make a dent, and putting a round through the visor slit would require a much more skilled marksman than me. I cut and run, heading wherever the winding hallways took me. After a couple of minutes of fleeing I spotted a ladder, which was rather convenient given the radio chatter I was picking up through my illicit headset.

"CPIF Riot Team 6, this is CPIF Riot Team 2. We are currently en route to your position to assist target apprehension. Rendezvous near control room and execute pincer interception tactics accordingly."

"Understood, Team 2. Team 6 copies all."

"10-4, Team 6. Team 2 out."

"Team 6 out."

_Control room,_ I thought, _you don't say?_ If I could get there before the CPIF squads cut me off, I could raise the gates blocking my Airboat's exit. I would still have to deal with the fuel leaks, but one problem at a time. I broke into a full sprint, cursing my suit's hydraulics malfunction as I ran for the control room. I reached my goal as the oncoming CPIF unit caught sight of their buddies. I slammed the door shut, but it wouldn't keep them out. I spied a fire containment button covered in glass. I smashed the glass with my elbow and hit the button. A thick blast shield lowered in front of the door. Now they would have to force their way in, which would take around ten minutes.

I fiddled with the controls in order to figure out which buttons did what. I was careful to stay away from any giant red buttons imprinted with **DO NOT PRESS**. After a good minute I struck gold, sliding a lever upwards to raise the gates. I checked over my shoulder to be sure nothing was going on behind me. The riot teams had ceased trying to force their way into the control room. I switched on the security camera monitors to be certain. Sure enough, they were just standing out there in the hallway, waiting for me. Something was very wrong, though; the Combine never gave up unless they were ordered to do so. The fact that they had indeed given up meant something bad was about to happen.

Suddenly the room's windows shattered. I turned back around and was met with a trio of CPIF operatives armed with Shocksticks, the CPIF variant of the Stunstick. The Shockstick was a nasty piece of work, delivering 25,000 volts instead of the standard 10,000. The extra fifteen thousand volts were added for one reason: to incapacitate or kill enemies at point-blank range.

These guys were hand-to-hand specialists; their skills denoted by the gray fist on each officer's right sleeve. The officers on the left and right sides held Shocksticks in each hand, making them doubly deadly. The guy in the center held a double-ended Shockstick. It was three feet long, and although only the ends were electrically charged, the shaft could still put somebody in a world of hurt. Barney had come up with a joke about the double-ended Shockstick, "Hey guys; it's Darth Maul!" Resistance fighters across the nation had since adopted the joke.

The officer shifted the weapon into his right hand and began to pull of his mask. I had already figured out who it was by the quadruple golden stripes and the white eagle emblazoned with _C17_.

"Commissioner Thorn," I growled, "It's been a while."

"Freeman, you certainly have an odd sense of humor," the Commissioner shook his head in mock wonder.

"Shut up," I snarled, "Everything you say disgusts me,"

"Is that so? I am rather open to my opponents' opinions." He was trying to piss me off so I would slip up. It was a good play, but I wouldn't let him win.

"Are you going to stand there and talk all day, or can we move on to the part where I beat the hell out of all three of you bare-handed?" I aimed right for his pride and hit a bull's eye. Something changed in his face and he paused for a couple of seconds. Then he shouted in rage and charged at me, holding his double-ended Shockstick like a spearman. His implants had stimulated anger and rage to make him start fighting me more quickly. The adverse side effect of anger was poor judgment, and I would exploit that weakness.

I sidestepped the Commissioner's blind charge and stuck my right leg out to the side. He tripped over my extended leg, and his momentum carried him facedown to the floor. I didn't have time to step on the Commissioner's neck while he was down because of the two other CPIF officers in the room, so I engaged them while the Commissioner picked himself up. One of the officers swung overhand at me with his Shockstick. I grabbed his wrist and squeezed as hard as I could. My HEV suit's hydraulics may have been out of commission, but the suit itself was made out of a blend of extremely tough materials, which meant I could still do some damage. I felt something give in the cop's wrist, so I let him go. I may hate the Combine, but I still try to give them the option to retreat. This guy chose not to, lashing out again with an inside sweep. I took hold of his arm at the elbow and bicep and shoved him away. His own momentum turned against him and sent him into a spin. He came out of it disoriented and dizzy. I kicked him in the shins, punched him in the stomach, kneed him in the groin, and elbowed him in the jaw. The combined impact of my blows knocked him into the air. He sailed headfirst into the wall and collapsed. I could tell he was still conscious, but he was definitely out of the fight.

The other CPIF agent jabbed me in the back with his Shockstick, dropping my shields to 31. I whirled around in a spinning hook kick, slamming my heel into the side of his head. He dropped to one knee and reached a hand up to touch his ringing ear. I kicked him in the face while he was down. He flipped over onto his back and stopped moving. I looked around for my third foe. Where the hell was Commissioner Thorn?

The Commissioner grabbed me in a headlock and began to tighten his arm against his chest. My airflow was abruptly cut off, and I felt my windpipes slowly being crushed. I saw edges of darkness creeping into the corners of my vision; I had to do something fast. I stomped on the Commissioner's right foot, making him slightly loosen his hold on me. I wrestled with him for a few seconds, but he wouldn't give up. I dropped to one knee and threw him over my shoulder. I planted a boot on his chest before he could stand, but he still refused to give in. I pulled my .357 off of its magnetic slot on my suit and cocked the hammer.

"Any last words, Commissioner?" I said with absolutely no emotion at all.

He spat in my face. Just when I was about to pull the trigger, the blast door exploded and the pair of riot teams began to pour into the room. Everyone turned to look at us. Silence filled the room for a short few seconds.

"Orders, sir?" one of the officers asked.

"Kill him."

I jumped out the shattered window as gunfire erupted all around me. The twenty-foot drop left me unscathed thanks to my HEV suit. I had to find a way out of here, and fast. I saw the Commissioner appear in the window, and he was holding a detonator. I heard a distant explosion and saw a plume of black smoke when he pressed the button. I had a hunch that he had just blown up my Airboat, so I didn't bother going that way. I ran for the river, hoping to find something other than razor ribbon or an electric fence.

To my surprise, I found a Combine coast patrol unit. They were completely unaware of my presence, leaning on the sides of their boat and chatting away. I shot two of the three Combine sailors and held the third one at gunpoint. I said one word:

"Drive!"

The other Combine patrol boats we passed by didn't bother us; their crews thought we were on their side. I didn't need to hold the Combine sailor at gunpoint either because we both knew he couldn't take me alone and that his chances of survival would increase dramatically if he didn't try anything stupid. The driver was shaking in fear; both from my presence and what his superiors would do to him if they found out he was helping me. He had obviously not been through memory replacement; he did not portray the calm, collected, ruthless air of indoctrinated Combine personnel. Upon getting a closer look at him, I realized he was very young.

I returned my Five-seveN to its magnetic slot on my HEV suit. "Relax, I'm not going to shoot you unless you try to attack me." This seemed to calm him down a bit; he let out the breath he had been holding and wasn't shivering as much. "How old are you, kid?"

"N-Nineteen, sir," he replied shakily.

I tried to get his perspective on the war, "Why did you join the Combine?"

"I… it was more for the better living conditions than anything else. I get three MREs a day and Civil Protection doesn't search the barracks for contraband every week."

I tried to chip away at his resolve and already uncertain allegiance to the Combine. "Do you realize what the Combine has done; what they're still doing?"

"I know what they've done," he said, "Everyone does. They're in charge now and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Not for long." I said it like it was a cold, hard fact. With any luck, it would be. "The Resistance will stand tall, we will stand together, and we will prevail. The Uprising is coming."

His next words surprised me, "I hope you're right."

Something caught my eye outside, and I looked out the window. Another patrol boat was getting a bit too curious for comfort. I felt my heart rate quicken, the last thing I needed was a high-speed gun battle with Combine patrol boats in hot pursuit.

"Uh, sir," the driver was choked with fear again, "We're being hailed."

I put a hand on his shoulder, "Easy, kid. Act like everything's normal and we'll be fine." The pilot nodded several times, took a couple of deep breaths, and keyed the boat's comlink.

The voice that came through was low and synthesized from the radio's built-in Vocoder, "River Unit Three-Seven-One, this is River Unit Three-Zero-Four."

My hijacked boat's pilot calmly replied, "Three-Seven-One, receiving. Go ahead, Three-Zero-Four."

"Three-Seven-One, report ops and status."

The pilot released the comlink button, "We might have trouble, get ready," he muttered to me.

The other boat's radioman came through again, "Three-Seven-One, ops and status."

"Three-Zero-Four, ops normal. Status green across the board."

The rival boat's crew was not satisfied, "Three-Seven-One, order your crew to report via comlink. Scans of your craft show two biotics and one ID chip." A 'biotic' was the Combine military term for an organic life form.

_Thank God for Vocoders,_ I thought as the pilot recited his late crewmates' names, ranks, and service numbers. The Vocoder built into the radio scrambled the pilot's voice, so the crew on the other end had no idea they were being conned. When they still weren't satisfied, the pilot began sweating uncontrollably.

"Three-Seven-One, bio-signal checks on your gunner and radioman show K.I.A. Have your crew exit the pilothouse and remain on the deck."

"Three-Seven-One copies all. Standby, Three-Zero-Four." The pilot deactivated the comlink and turned to me. "Sir, they've called our bluff. Reinforcements are probably en route as we speak." I unholstered my .357 and the poor kid turned pale. He backed up into a corner and tears welled in his eyes, "Please don't shoot me sir! I tried my best, please don't kill me!"

I gave my voice a firm edge, "Calm down, kid. I said I wasn't going to shoot you, remember?" He nodded fervently. I stalked over to the rear of the pilothouse and swung the door open. I spoke over my shoulder, "When you hear a gunshot, ram them." I stepped outside. I held the door roughly at a ninety-degree angle to keep myself hidden from the rival crew's prying eyes. Crouching below the windows, I moved along the opposite side of the deck and stopped just around the corner. I shifted around for a stable firing position at the boat's gunner. His flak jacket made me think twice about a center-mass shot. I leveled my .357 at the enemy gunner's head and cocked the hammer. I pulled the trigger. The round punched through his helmet, landed in his temple, and sent him flying overboard into the water. I braced myself on the handrails as our boat lurched towards theirs. The nose of a Combine patrol boat was much stronger than its flanks, so the results of the impact were quite one-sided. The boat's angular nose slammed into its counterpart's flank, the impact jarring everyone on board the pair of boats. The enemy craft's flank crumpled inwards. The heavily damaged patrol boat began to belch smoke and tilt sideways. The pilothouse door flew open and the two enemy sailors dove into the water as their vessel capsized. They frantically swam for the shore.

I knew every patrol boat on the river was probably headed our way, so I returned to the pilothouse. I handed a slip of paper to the pilot, "Head to these coordinates. Do not enter them into the system; just get there as fast as you can. I'm taking the gun." He nodded. Closing the door behind me, I exited the pilothouse. I climbed the short four-rung ladder on the side of the pilothouse and took hold of the boat's mounted gun.

Combine patrol boats were armed with a twin-barrel machine gun. While its rate of fire was lower than most other mounted guns, it was more than made up for in sheer stopping power. Firing armor-piercing depleted uranium cartridges at six hundred fifty rounds per minute, it was a force to be reckoned with. The guns had a semi-transparent holographic display projected above them, which displayed countless readings and statuses. I glanced around at the display for a few seconds and inferred that the HUD was standard Combine vehicle equipment. All of its readouts were displayed in a slightly pale blue, but a warning icon would appear in red if the weapon malfunctioned or somebody managed to get a missile lock on the boat. The weapon's ammunition counter was at the display's upper-right hand corner. A targeting reticle was in the center of the HUD. Any weapon malfunctions would appear in the lower right corner. A motion tracker was displayed in the lower left corner.

Motion trackers were standard-issue equipment for all Combine vehicles. The tracker's range was limited to a mere fifty meters on patrol boats such as the one I was aboard now, but they reached out over a hundred miles on Combine battle cruisers. While motion trackers lack the range of radar systems, they were immeasurably more reliable. Resistance spies in the Combine ranks had begun leaking troubling information: Overwatch had recently begun field-testing motion trackers housed inside their soldiers' helmets. The prototypes carried a small radius of about ten meters, but the advantage they gave to Combine ground forces was unquestionable.

On motion tracker readouts, friendly forces were displayed as yellow dots, while others were displayed in red. The trackers discerned friend from foe by scanning for Combine ID chips, which were implanted into every soldier's neck and housed in every vehicle's body. Ironically, this meant I would be blasting anything yellow.

The pilot's voice came through the radio, "Behind us, sir!" A pair of yellow blips appeared on the tracker. I swung the gun around and sized up my opponents. They were standard Combine Mk II patrol boats like the one I was on, fitted with medium armor and built for patrol ops. The twin-barreled machine guns spewed lead all around the boat, landing a few hits here and there but not doing much damage. I squeezed the triggers and returned fire. The low, drumming rhythm of the mounted gun reverberated in my ears. The boat on my right was closer so I targeted it first. I kept my hand as steady as I could, aiming for the pilothouse. The windows shattered inwards and the two crewmen inside collapsed. The patrol boat began listing lazily to the left and smashed into the rocks. The other patrol boat had slid up alongside us in the meantime and had begun hammering us with heavy gunfire. The radioman was even out on the deck, popping rounds off with his Five-seveN. I knew the craft's engine was housed aft of the pilothouse. My rounds cut the radioman down and penetrated into the boat. I heard an explosion after a few seconds of sustained fire. Plumes of smoke belched from its innards and flaming steel flew skywards. The patrol craft skipped on a wave and catapulted into the air. The vessel flipped end over end. It landed on its nose, skimmed over onto its side, and exploded in a bright orange flash.

I had a moment to breathe easy during the lull in combat. Unfortunately it didn't last; the pilot alerted me less than a minute later, "We've got more up front!" The pilot ducked as a burst of machine gun fire went through the windows. I rotated the gun to face forwards again, coming face to face with a quartet of Mk II patrol boats. I noticed a pair of CPIF operatives on the aft deck of each boat. Commissioner Thorn had probably sent them along to provide an increased volume of fire and to serve as boarding parties should the opportunity present itself. They opened up with their MP7s as the gunners poured fire into the boat.

"I'm taking heavy fire; get 'em off me!" The pilot was becoming increasingly worried about hull integrity. I targeted the leftmost boat and moved to the right, raking fire into the CPIF officers. They all either fell backwards onto the deck or tumbled over the sides. The boats' gunners were still a major issue but I couldn't get a bead on them through the thick armor plating on the guns. I had to try something risky.

The aft decks on Mk II patrol boats like this one were roofed with a heavy steel canvas, which stood slightly taller than the pilothouse. I stood out of the gunner seat and stepped over the side of the pilothouse, balancing myself on the first and second ladder rungs. I reached out and gripped the edge of the canvas with my fingertips. I swung my legs up onto the canvas and pushed myself up onto my feet. Widening my stance to steady myself, I drew my Five-seveN. The handgun would be fairly inaccurate with the boat rocking back and forth, so I took a fairly non-conservative approach. I put four rounds in the direction of each gunner to ensure they were taken out, and then dropped the clip with the remaining two cartridges.

I barely had time to move and take the machine gun before the pilot yelled, "Oh, shit! We've got Mk III's coming up fast!"

Two words were in mind when Overwatch commissioned the Mk III patrol boat: _speed enforcement_. Mk III patrol boats were not sent out on patrols; they remained on standby as a rapid response reinforcement unit. Their light armor made them somewhat vulnerable, but their top speed of 70mph more than made up for it. Only two crewmen were needed to operate the Mk III: a driver and a gunner. The driver was tasked with the duties normally assigned to the radioman on larger patrol boats. On account of their incredible speed, a lighter weapon was needed. After extensive field-testing, ONAVCOM (Overwatch Naval Command) settled on a mounted M249 SAW light machine gun with a 150-round munitions belt.

The pilot called out targets, "Contact right! Three of them!"

I rotated the gun and traded fire with the trio of pursuing patrol craft, unleashing a vastly superior wall of lead upon them. My guns tore through the boats one by one, but not without receiving some damage in return. The armor plating around the front of the mounted guns was dented, the pilothouse windows were all but gone, and the boat's paint job was generally ruined.

"Another one out front!" The pilot was shouting over the heavy gunfire. The other boat's pilot was smarter than the others, weaving unpredictably from side to side and frequently switching the pattern. His gunner was a notably skilled marksman, keeping a steady stream of fire pointed towards my boat. We traded fire for about twenty seconds before I heard the pilot scream.

"Dammit! I'm hit!" he yelled.

I keyed the seat's radio, "Keep pressure on it! Where are you hit?"

The pilot cried out in pain again. "My arm!"

"I'm coming! Just let me deal with this guy!"

Fueled with a new anger towards the Combine, I zeroed in on the Mk III with the precision of a laser, shredding .50 caliber rounds into its crewmen and across the boat. I didn't waste time with the ladder, deciding instead to swing down through the shattered pilothouse window. The pilot was still crying out.

"Do you have a medkit on board?" I asked.

"It's… to my left… on the bulkhead!" The initial flares of pain had numbed off, reducing his shrieks to sustained groans. I pulled the medical kit off the wall and flicked the latches open.

"Give me your arm," I said calmly. I took the knife from the first-aid kit and cut off the pilot's left sleeve for easier access. "This will numb the pain," I told him as I injected a shot of morphine into his wound. The pilot's pupils dilated slightly and he relaxed.

"Thanks, doc," he said, "Feels a little better."

"The morphine isn't going to do much good if you bleed out in a few minutes," I said as I rummaged through the kit's contents, "You need a field dressing." I wound the bandage tightly around his arm.

I stood and began moving to retake the boat's gun. The pilot called out to me as I was exiting the pilothouse, "Dr. Freeman?"

"Yes?" I turned and raised an eyebrow.

"Why are you doing this?"

I was puzzled, "Fighting the Combine?"

"No, I mean why are you helping me?"

I paused for a moment. "You've got a good heart, kid. I'm making sure it's in the right place."

The pilot frowned, "I don't understand…"

"Now might be the time to reconsider your career options." I climbed the ladder and once more took hold of the boat's gun.

The Combine radio chatter had become frantic in my absence. It sounded like Commissioner Thorn had every available patrol boat looking for me. He probably did. As the minutes ticked by and Black Mesa East drew closer, I knew something was off. If there were so many patrol boats after us, then why weren't we seeing any? The answer came in the sound of rotor blades. I saw the source of the noise around the next corner.

"Hunter-Chopper!" the pilot yelled. The boat lurched forwards as we passed underneath the helicopter. The Hunter-Chopper opened fire at the same time as I did. We traded fire as our craft danced around each other in the widening river. The Hunter-Chopper was far superior to the Mk II patrol boat in every way. It had two independently manned guns while I only had one. Its armor was thicker and made of a composition still unknown to Resistance scientists. The Hunter-Chopper was faster and more durable than the Mk II, and its agility was unmatched. It was a losing fight. I would probably be dead in less than five minutes unless I could call in some Resistance fire support, but the Hunter-Chopper's jammer was blocking any kind of communications. The jammer would have to be destroyed if I was to have any chance of survival, but it was housed in the middle of the chopper. Blasting through the armor plating would take too long… What else could I do? After a few moments, it hit me.

I swung down through the pilothouse window, startling the pilot.

"Where's the radio?" I shouted over the whirring miniguns.

"To my left!" The pilot yelled back.

I tuned the boat's radio to a Resistance emergency channel. This particular channel had been disguised and encoded as a Combine military frequency, negating any form of enemy signal jammers. I cut right to the chase, "This is Gordon Freeman! I've hijacked a Combine patrol boat and I'm pinned down by a Hunter-Chopper!"

The operator came back through the speakers, "Freeman, what is your designation code?" Everyone who joined the Resistance was given a designation code. This code was essentially a rebel's serial number, used primarily for identification and security purposes.

I spoke slowly and clearly, "Freeman, Earth Resistance, designation Two-Two-Niner-Delta."

"Designation confirmed. Good to have you back, doc."

I cut back to my current problem, "I've hijacked a Combine patrol boat and I'm pinned down by a Hunter-Chopper. My position is on the river, half a klick north of Black Mesa East."

"Understood, Freeman. We're sending a heavy team along the shore now, ETA two minutes."

"Much appreciated, Black Mesa East. Freeman out." I yelled down to the pilot as I reclaimed the machine gun, "Dodge around behind the rocks and don't worry about my aim! Just keep us alive; we'll bring this thing down!"

"Got it!" The pilot gunned it for the rocks while I harassed the Hunter-Chopper with the MG.

The Mk II may not have been as agile as we would have preferred, but it managed well enough going between the scattered rocks. The enemy helicopter's gunfire chipped away at the rocks but it failed to punch through any of them. We had been dancing around through the small archipelago for about a minute when the gunfire stopped.

"Where'd he go?" the pilot shouted. Three seconds later an explosion resonated through the water. "Holy shit! They're firing rockets at us! We're screwed, man! We're screwed!"

I squinted through the glaring sunlight and saw something moving on top of the ridgeline. Small plumes of flame sporadically appeared behind them, followed by trails of white smoke.

"No," I yelled, "That's the Resistance!" I felt a wave of relief and joy running through me.

Time seemed to slow as the first rocket impacted. A small chunk of armor plating flew off of the Hunter-Chopper, flaming as it tumbled down into the water. The rest of the half-dozen Resistance fighters opened up with heavy machine guns and rocket launchers. The Hunter-Chopper shuddered from the pounding when I opened up with my own machine gun. More armor plating was blown off with every new impact. One of the Resistance fighters carried a bolt-action sniper rifle. He hadn't fired a single round for the entire battle, and I knew why when he finally pulled the trigger. An armor-piercing .50 caliber round went into each gunner's chest. One of them slumped over his gun while the other was sent flying into the river. With both of its gunners neutralized, the Hunter-Chopper tried to break away and flee, but the Resistance fighters wouldn't have it. The sniper loaded an incendiary round into his bolt-action rifle and fired it into the chopper's now-exposed fuel cells. The Hunter-Chopper was sent spinning by the explosion. The pilot tried to regain control of his chopper, but it smashed nose-first into the cliff side. The crash set off yet more chain explosions, ripping the Hunter-Chopper apart from the inside. The Resistance fighters cheered wildly as the enemy aircraft lazily toppled down onto the shoreline and came to rest.

As soon as the Hunter-Chopper was destroyed, Alyx came up on my suit's vid link, "Gordon, everyone is going insane down here! What's going on?"

I turned to face the enemy wreck so whoever else was watching could see the Resistance's latest kill, "We just shot down a Hunter-Chopper!"

She put a hand to her mouth, "Oh my God!"

"The team you sent up deserves medals and hot meals all around. I would be dead right now if it wasn't for them."

"Where are you now?" she asked.

"I'm half a klick away, and I have a new recruit. We're coming home."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This concludes chapter four. I really hope nobody was too disgusted by the changes, but _please let me know if the changes made this a botched chapter!_ Your reviews and PM's, whether positive or negative, will only help me understand what my readers want from future chapters. In other news, I've decided to break this fic down into three "acts" or "parts" because of its length. This is the end of "Act one" if you will. Act one goes up to the end of chapter four (here). Act two runs from "Black Mesa East" through "Nova Prospekt". Finally, act three will finish off my first fic; starting with "Anticitizen One" and ending at "Dark Energy". On a more somber note, I may not update this story for a week or two. As much as I hate to admit it, school has to take priority over fanfiction [grumbles unprintable obscenities]. My teachers have been hammering me with homework lately and I've been drowning in English papers. Lucky for me though, they've finally started loosening the noose again and I have room to breathe. I am devoting as much of my spare time to this fic as I can, and I will continue to come through for you guys. _Uprising_ will not, repeat will **NOT** become another incomplete fic, another unfulfilled promise, or another failure. I _will_ keep writing, I _will_ keep uploading, and I _will_ finish this fic if the damn thing kills me. Who knows? If this thing garners enough attention, I just might start a sequel about Episode One. Either way, I hope everyone continues to enjoy my work!

Cheers,

_SergeantLawson_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Black Mesa East

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know it's been a while since I've posted anything, but… I'm back! :D I'm doing a few things differently with _Black Mesa East_. First, I'm not going to introduce Dr. Mossman until a later chapter (I don't know exactly when yet). I won't reveal the second thing here; read the chapter to find out! :)

The dock was empty of personnel when the pilot docked our Combine patrol boat. It was unsurprising that no one was outside; Combine scanners, both orbital and local, would detect them if they were. The pilot parked the vessel in the most secluded spot he could find and cut the engines. Something dawned on me as we casually strode toward the blast doors.

"I never did catch your name."

"It's Walker, Ryan Walker."

That was the first time I ever shook hands with the Combine.

The massive blast doors creaked and groaned as they opened, revealing the usual four-man security detail on the other side. Seeing a Combine uniform approaching, they instantly raised their weapons and zeroed in on Walker. I instantly stepped into their firing lines.

"Hold your fire!" I shouted.

One of them, a muscular, middle-aged man, objected, "Dr. Freeman, with all due respect; what the hell are you doing?"

I took a couple of steps forward. "He's with me. Stand down."

Nobody moved.

"Are you insane?" another rebel almost shouted, "You're bringing the enemy into our only major command center within a hundred miles of the Citadel!"

"Look at him," I partially stepped aside, "He's not trying to kill me or any of you. His own men shot him. Civil Protection is becoming more aggressive, and I have a feeling we're going to need people like him more and more: people from the inside. If that isn't enough proof, he intentionally rammed into another patrol boat and sunk it. He also just handed you the _only_ working Combine vehicle we have. Think about it for a moment. Where does that put you?"

After what felt like an eternity, three of them lowered their guns. The fourth remained stubbornly rooted to the spot, his shotgun still trained on the pilot. One of his comrades turned to him.

"Come on, Dante," he said, "If Freeman says he's clean, he's clean."

The fighter grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and I was almost certain he was going to shoot Walker.

"Damn it," he muttered as he lowered his shotgun. They turned to leave just as Alyx came walking up the ramp with Eli Vance himself in tow.

"Vega, what's going on out here?" she demanded.

The beefy man grunted. "Apparently we're letting the Combine into Black Mesa East." He stormed off into the base, regretting not having pulled the trigger.

Alyx was hesitant, "Gordon… are you sure about this?"

"Positive," I said, "Check my helmet cam if you want proof."

Eli Vance, the leader of the Resistance, addressed the pilot, "What's your name, son?"

"Ryan Walker," the kid replied nervously.

"Eli Vance." Eli extended his hand. Ryan's eyes were as wide as saucers when he realized whom he was speaking to. They shook hands, which gave me a thought. _Maybe Ryan isn't the only one we can convince to join the Resistance._

Ryan struggled to think of what to say. "Sir, I… uh… it's an honor."

"Please, call me Eli."

Ryan blinked several times and shook his head lightly, "Sorry. Just nervous, I guess." He paused, "There's something… something you need to know."

Eli raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. After several quiet seconds, Ryan said what was on his mind, "All Combine personnel have an ID chip implanted in their neck. I won't feel like I belong here until it's taken out."

Eli smiled, "Well then, let's take care of that." He turned to his daughter, "Alyx, could you escort Walker down to the med bay?"

Alyx pushed herself off the wall she had been leaning on and uncrossed her arms, "Sure. Come on, Walker."

She began walking back inside, the former Combine sailor trailing at a short distance. He couldn't help staring, but quickly averted his eyes when she glanced back over her shoulder. Eli and I shared a knowing glance. We both shook our heads and snickered, clearly thinking the same thing: _Oh, to be nineteen again…_

Eli broke the following idle silence after several seconds, "We should get inside. I'm convening a war council soon; we need to get you up to speed, and vice versa. Meet me in the war room in an hour. Until then, why don't you walk around the base, shake hands here and there? It certainly wouldn't hurt morale."

Alyx and Walker finally found me eight dozen handshakes and greetings later.

"Gordon… are you alright?" she asked.

I sighed, "Too many damned handshakes… ow!" A nasty cramp had appeared in my right shoulder.

The only sympathy I received was a laugh and a light punch in the shoulder.

"Aren't you glad you joined?" I didn't answer. "Well?" she persisted.

"I'm thinking!"

I switched gears and turning to the pilot, "They pulled that chip out of your neck already, Ryan?"

"Yeah. Didn't feel a thing." He twisted his neck from side to side. I noticed he had been fitted for a Resistance uniform. The faded blue jacket, olive drab pants, Kevlar vest, tan combat boots, and Lambda armband all looked natural on him.

"Welcome to the Resistance," I said after a couple of seconds.

"Uh, Gordon…" Alyx tapped her wrist and showed me her watch. _2103… What time did-_

It suddenly hit me. "Dammit, I'm late!" I stopped when I noticed they weren't following me. "Ryan, Alyx; are you coming?"

"I don't have permission to attend Command meetings," she explained, "Only generals, colonels, Eli, and you are qualified."

"Oh." I felt bad for bringing it up. "Ryan, you're coming."

"What?" he said, his jaw hanging open.

"The brass needs solid intel, and right now you're our best bet." I once again took off for the war room, this time with Ryan Walker behind me.

We arrived at approximately 2107 (9:07pm), and the honor guards quickly ushered us inside the blast doors.

"Ah, Freeman," one of the men spoke up, "I knew you would arrive… eventually." He narrowed his eyes. _Dick._

Trying to sound as respectful as I could, I replied, "My apologies, Colonel."

He shook his head, "Oh, the formalities. Tell me, Freeman, do you believe you are above the men and women in this room? I don't recall anyone else showing up late to such important meetings." _What the hell is this guy's problem?_ Before I could reply he cut me off again, "And who is this?" He gestured to Ryan.

I let a sharp edge into my voice. "His name, _Colonel_, is Ryan Walker; our new expert on Combine weapons and equipment."

"Appointed by whom?" _For God's sake, somebody shut him up!_

"Appointed by me." Eli spoke up.

"I believe you may have lost your sense of judgment, Eli–"

I had had enough. "Enough, Colonel. Last time I checked, _you_ didn't have to fight your way out of the Black Mesa Incident. _You_ have never set foot inside a Combine-controlled city. _You_ have never had to fire your weapon at anything except a bull's-eye target. So let me ask you something, Colonel," I made sure that last word sounded very belittling and put a condescending smile on my face, "Do you believe _you_ are above the men and women in this room? I don't recall anyone else showing such signs of appalling disrespect to _anyone_ wearing Resistance colors, regardless of rank or standing. Until you can prove to everyone in this room, including myself, that you are capable of more than spouting empty words and flashing around your birdie on a stick, sit down and let the real brass handle things."

"Freeman has a point, _Lieutenant-Colonel_," one of the generals spoke up.

The jackass tried to retort, "Sir, perhaps I heard you wrong–"

"No, _Major_, you did not," the general demoted him once again, "And it now appears you are of insufficient rank to access this room. Leave now, or be court-martialed."

The former colonel was speechless, his mouth hung open as he tried to process what just happened. He stood, balled his hands into fists, and left the room, grumbling unintelligible things the whole way out.

"Thank you, General Harris," Eli broke the ensuing silence, "Now, if this meeting would come to a proper opening. All rise." We all pivoted towards the pair of flags. One was a U.S. flag, the stars and stripes proud and bright. The other flag displayed the Resistance colors; an orange Lambda with an orange ring around it set in a black background. The war room's occupants stood at rigid attention, saluting the flags of freedom as we recited the Pledge of Allegiance.

"_I pledge allegiance,_

_To the flag,_

_Of the United States of America,_

_And to the Republic,_

_For which it stands._

_One nation, under God,_

_Indivisible,_

_With liberty and justice for all."_

Eli began the proceedings, "As you all know, we would normally begin with logistics and inventory reports, and then move into the operational updates. However, that will not be the case this time, as we have the return of one very special individual on our minds. Welcome back, _Colonel_ Freeman." Nods of respect and light applause occupied the room for a few short moments.

"Eli, I think you've made a mistake," I said, not quite willing to accept the promotion.

"No, I haven't," he smiled, "After Major Reynolds earned his new rank, there is, or rather was, an open spot on the Council."

I still protested, "But I don't think–"

One of the colonels held up a finger, "One moment," he keyed his com to the base's PA system, "Attention all personnel, attention all personnel. The time is now 2130. Nonessential personnel, report to your barracks. Security watch, report to the armory for patrol assignments. That is all." He released his thumb from the mic clipped to his dress uniform.

"You've got the job, Freeman, you might as well enjoy it." I simply shrugged in reply. Eli continued, "Anyway, let's hear your report, Gordon. What are the Combine up to now?" The world grew silent as Resistance High Command awaited my answer.

I took a deep breath. "Nothing good, I'm afraid. How is contact holding up with our agents inside City 17?"

"We're showing a sixty percent loss of contact, and the number keeps climbing daily," a major general responded, presumably the Director of Communications.

I laid the news on heavy, "That's because of Civil Protection." Everybody looked on with expectant eyes. "They've launched what they're calling 'Operation: Lambda Locator'. Essentially, they are rooting out and terminating anyone suspected of being a Resistance operative. I've seen some of the damage. I was in one of the apartments they raided. They… killed everyone. Shot them like fish in a barrel." I saw muscles tighten throughout the room, "I managed to save one of the agents, though: Alyx Vance." Everyone breathed easy for a few seconds. "That's not the worst of it, though: Commissioner Thorn himself is in on the op; I've run into him twice already. Almost killed him the second time, but a couple of CPIF riot teams showed up before I could–"

"Wait, 'riot teams'?" one of the colonels cut me off.

I nodded. "Yes. Walker, give them the details. Everything; they've got the time."

The former Combine pilot tapped a few buttons on the plasma monitor's control board, bringing up a live orbital view of Sector 17. There were murmurs of surprise and recognition.

"A live satellite feed?" Eli commented thoughtfully.

"Yes, sir," Walker confirmed, "Directly from the Combine orbital network."

"Impressive."

Walker cut right to the chase, using a laser pointer to specify certain areas. "Over the past month, Civil Protection has become more aggressive. Their tactics have changed and improved, and the CPIF has gone from being a small unit to a fully funded self-sufficient division. They can deploy anywhere in City 17 within minutes via ground and air, they are better trained than everyday CPs, and they are rapidly becoming a bridge between Civil Protection and the Overwatch military." He paused for a few seconds before playing his fingers across the control pad again. The image switched to a Combine assault shield and Ryan continued speaking. "This is a Combine assault shield. Its depleted uranium core already makes it impossible for small caliber rounds to penetrate through. The inner layers of lead and refined steel add even more protection, and the titanium shell laughs at armor-piercing rounds. Even a grenade will have little effect."

"Well, then how the hell are we supposed to punch through it?" someone interjected.

"General, the shield is made of Combine metals and depleted uranium. 'Punching through' is impossible with small arms fire. However, there is a design flaw that a sniper could exploit: the viewing slit. I personally wouldn't recommend it because it's a thirty-to-one shot at best. There are only three sure ways to foil an assault shield: calling in an orbital strike, somehow getting behind them, or firing a rocket at them. The third option is the most realistic. The rocket may not penetrate the armor, but the blast will kill them anyway." The officers nodded in agreement.

But there was one thing Walker hadn't said. He shifted nervously in place, contemplating whether to continue or not. I nodded slightly, and he finally spoke after several deep breaths. "There's… one more thing." The Resistance flag officers looked up from their datapads and coffee mugs, "The Combine have increased river patrols, and right now they're swarming the waterways; more than likely searching for Freeman and I. It's only a matter of time before one of their boats moseys along by us; I strongly suggest we pull all exterior personnel inside until they give us some breathing room."

"Very well," Eli agreed, "Gentlemen, if you have nothing more…?" the room's occupants shook their heads. We stood at attention, recited the Pledge of Allegiance once more, and filed out of the room in order of rank.

The Resistance fighter patrolled the halls, bored out of his mind. Why hadn't he shot that Combine soldier? They were all the same; the bastard would turn on them sooner or later. Damn it, why hadn't he pulled the– He thought he saw a blur of white and red flit across his vision. _What the hell was that?_

"Yo, Pressley! This isn't funny, man!" he called out.

No answer.

"Pressley?"

Still nothing.

"Pressley…?" The watchman drew his flashlight and Desert Eagle, sensing something was off. He moved cautiously forward, his hand shaking slightly as he held his pistol out in front of him. There it was again! Was he seeing things? No, he had _definitely_ seen something.

The pipes creaked above his head, making him whip around towards the source. When he saw the cause of the noise, he froze. A slim, female figure was hanging off of the pipes. She was clad in a white suit of armor, but it didn't hinder her movements at all. The bullet-blocking nano-fiber combat skin bent and stretched with her, leaving flexibility unhindered. She held a suppressed Glock-18 automatic pistol with a 36-round extended magazine in one hand and a 5-inch combat knife in the other. She wore no helmet; her combat UI visor offered the same statuses with less bulk. The semi-transparent visor hid her eyes behind a red glare. The Combine insignia imprinted on her right breastplate was slightly rotated; the claw facing upward instead of slanting left. The triple bronze bars above the insignia denoted her as a lieutenant-commander, but what caught the Resistance fighter's attention was the three-letter acronym below the insignia: **S.T.G.**

_Oh shit!_ The guard tried to run, but the assassin tackled him before he could even move. His gun disappeared with a swift ax kick to his wrist and he was on the floor in less than two seconds. The guy didn't even have a chance to scream before her knife's cold steel slit his throat.

She tapped her earpiece twice, and three more identically equipped women dropped down from the pipes and vents at the all-clear signal. The Special Tasks Group detachment formed up around their CO as she bent down and deftly took possession of his security access card. They darted down hall after hall until they reached the security room. There were four Resistance guards inside: one was looking at a wall of monitors, her legs crossed as she sipped her coffee, another was cleaning weapons, and the other two were playing backgammon on the table. The four white-clad Combine assassins crouched low under the window, waiting for their leader's orders. The lieutenant-commander crossed her right index and middle fingers and flicked her wrist around. The commando on point nodded slightly as she drew a flash grenade and quietly rolled it into the room. The Resistance personnel were blinded when the device went off, their vision white and their ears ringing as they were gunned down.

The lieutenant-commander keyed her earpiece, speaking in a cool voice, "Admiral Frasier? This is Vixen One. We're in." She off-handedly pushed the Resistance officer's corpse off the keyboard, slightly annoyed at the specs of the woman's blood on her gloves.

"Understood, Vixen One," said another cool female voice on the other end, "This is Admiral Frasier. Commence Phase Two."

"Understood, commencing Phase Two. Vixen One out."

The squad leader terminated the link and addressed her counterparts. "You have your orders, Vixen Team. Vixen Two and Four, with me. Vixen Three, stay here and keep the room secure. Hide the bodies first."

"Understood."

The three assassins left the room and flitted across the base once more. They reached the main blast doors in thirty seconds. The commandos wasted no time opening the doors, revealing the refreshing night air… and the massive assault battalion that waited outside.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: For those of you who are worried, I'm not going to just jump into Highway 17 right away with the next chapter. I will write out the battle for Black Mesa East (in detail) and then probably have a page break or something. The main thing I wanted to get across with this chapter is how the Resistance's heart still beats strong even though they are losing. Also, I wanted to show that not everybody is excited for Freeman's return (General/Major Raymond, for example), thinking he's there to steal their thunder. Again, follows/favorites/reviews (especially reviews, special thanks to _) are always appreciated!

Cheers,

_SergeantLawson_

7


	6. Chapter 6

7

Chapter 6: Battle for Black Mesa

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry it has taken me so long to finish this chapter. My computer's graphics card went bust and I had to wait for my next paycheck to get it fixed. Then it was another week before I was finally able to recover my files. Note to self: buy a damned flash drive.

000

I woke to the sound of alarms, shouts and gunfire. _What the hell is going on?_ I had my HEV suit back on in less than two minutes and my weapons locked and loaded. If the Combine wanted Black Mesa East, they would have to kill me first. I was done running. A Resistance fighter appeared in the doorway.

"Dr. Freeman! Come with me; we've got to evacuate High Command!"

"Understood, let's go!" I shouted back over the gunfire.

A shotgun's report resounded from a few meters away and the Resistance fighter crumpled to the floor, the pellets scattered into him. I tapped into the security camera down the hall to see what I was up against. It was just a lone Combine trooper, standard Overwatch military. The only difference was the orange accents and highlights on their armor. The highlights would be colored blue on riflemen, but they were orange on this guy to mark him as a shotgunner.

I stepped out into the hallway and gunned him down, and then stepped over to pop two additional rounds into him for good measure. I relieved him of his SPAS-12 shotgun and accompanying ammunition.

I dove behind a pile of rubble as an enemy squad came around the bend. The five blue-and-grey armored Combine infantrymen forged slowly ahead, covering each other and creating overlapping fields of fire as they scanned the hallways. If I had a grenade I could bag them all in one go. I held my breath as they unsuspectingly approached, waiting for the right moment. One of the soldiers broke the formation to "check" the dead Resistance fighter's body. He planted his boot on the dead man's shoulder blade and put one, two, three rounds in the back of his head. I grit my teeth and my knuckles turned white as I tightened my grip on my shotgun. Their sheer brutality and lack of remorse was… disturbing.

The soldier's life ended without hesitation, his body sent flying into the wall from the sheer force of the slug. His squad's four remaining members returned fire a split second later, the bullets whittling down my makeshift cover. I tried to scope out their positions but a round hit me in the face the second I popped my head out, dropping my shields from **100** to **92** and forcing me back into my hiding spot. A moment later, the gunfire was replaced by the synthesized groans of dying Combine soldiers.

"Hello? They're dead, you can come out now."

I stepped out. "Thanks for the assist," I said as I appropriated one of the dead troopers' AR2 rifles and a couple of magazines.

"Dr. Freeman? What a surprise," the two men said as they realized who they were talking to. I thought I knew one of them…

"Captain Turner; it's been a while!" We shook hands and he clapped me on the shoulder.

"Put on a bit of weight, haven't you, Doc?"

Looking at myself I realized he was right; my gear was getting a bit heavy. I dropped my Five-seveN and MP7, as well as their ammunition. I rolled my shoulders and sighed with relief. The twenty pounds of gear removed would certainly make me more mobile.

"Oh, this is Sergeant Hall." He gestured to his comrade.

"Well, we're in the shit, aren't we?"

"No kidding. Let's go save the brass."

000

The remnants of Resistance High Command were holed up in the war room, hiding behind makeshift defensive positions. They had flipped the conference table, dragged the podium over, and done whatever else they could to throw together a barricade. They gripped their sidearms with sweaty hands, not from fear, but from quiet resignation. They knew they were probably going to die and had come to peace with that fact. The enemy was too powerful; Freeman was either dead or long gone, and the remaining friendly forces, steeled and valiant as they may be, were being slaughtered.

A gruff voice cut through the tense, silent air. "Scan the area. Shoot anything that moves."

"Affirmative."

"Sir, yes, sir!"

"Roger that."

"Copy!"

The Resistance officers held their breath, utterly terrified. The battle-hardened men were sweating profusely and holding their handguns and magnums with white-knuckled grips. One of the men, a middle-aged brigadier general, tightly held his eyes shut as he silently mouthed a prayer.

A sickening _crack_ came from the front end of the room. The trooper spun halfway around from the force of the attack before Captain Turner dropped his lifeless body to the deck.

"What the f–" I swung my rifle butt into the squad leader's head, knocking him into the wall and cutting off his reply. Sergeant Hall gunned down the other three with a few quick bursts from his M16.

"Clear right!" Turner called.

"Clear left!" Hall echoed.

I nodded. "Roger that. Captain, take overwatch." Turner nodded and took a kneeling position halfway behind the door. He kept his sights trained down the corridor, propping his elbow on his knee to balance his 12-guage Striker shotgun.

Sergeant Hall cried out in pain, drawing both of our gazes toward him. The Combine squad leader was somehow still moving, and had driven his knife into Hall's left calf. "Goddammit!" The sergeant emptied his handgun's magazine into the persistent soldier, silencing him for good.

"Sergeant, do you need a medic?" I asked.

"No, I can walk."

"Are you sure?"

"He didn't hit an artery, Doc," he insisted, "I'm good."

The remnants of High Command were convinced by now that we were indeed Resistance. The three men and two women finally stood and stretched after more than an hour of immobility. _Only five… there should be eight. God, they're tearing us apart!_

"Dr. Freeman… we're glad to see you."

"Likewise, sir."

Turner spoke up and asked the question no one wanted to. "Sir, where is Colonel Hale?"

The senior officer of the group, a four-star general, replied, "She's… dead."

The captain's world violently ground to a halt. "What?" he almost spat, "How?"

"Turner," I said in a warning tone, but he held a hand.

"How… did… she… die?" The words tumbled out of Turner's mouth like lead bricks.

After a deep breath, the general hesitantly replied. "Very well, Captain; you deserve at least that much. She insisted on pulling security watch tonight. An enemy infiltration unit slipped in and killed our patrols, and then they took the security room. The STGs, they… gunned her down in cold blood."

I put a concerned hand on his shoulder. "Turner… I know you two were close. I'm sorry." He seemed to relax a little, but he was still beyond anger. In the twelve years that I had known him, I had never seen him like this. Not during the Black Mesa Incident, not when WWIII started in Ukraine, not even when the Combine landed and killed six hundred million people in two weeks.

The four-star general stepped over the barricade and locked his eyes with Turner's. "Captain, I have new orders for you. Go out there, and give them hell."

Turner swallowed the knot in his throat. "Aye, aye, sir."

Sergeant Hall asked about one of the other flag officers. "Lieutenant General Anderson, sir?"

"Dead as well, Sergeant." One of the colonels answered with some effort.

"Eli…?" I needed to know, even though I feared the answer.

The general and the rest of High Command looked back and forth at each other with heavy hearts. I finally got my answer after what felt like hours. "MIA. We have no idea where he is or if he's even alive; we've been trying to–"

"Contacts in the hallway!" Turner cut loose with his Striker and Hall opened up with his M16.

I addressed the remnants of High Command, "Stay close and stay behind cover. If we get split up, make your way to the extraction point. Do _not_ wait for reinforcements; just keep going. Let's move!"

Turner and Hall rolled underneath the crossfire and behind a pair of steel pillars while I kept the Combine soldiers pinned down. They came around the corner in threes and fours… I lost count after we had killed about twenty of them, and then they just stopped. What were they waiting for? A pair of smoke grenades clattered down the hall and belched a grey cloud cover from wall to wall. We scanned the hall, squinting in silent concentration. The brigadier general suddenly stiffened and fell backwards, a bullet in the center of his forehead. _What the hell? He was behind cover!_

"STG! Ru–" Turner crumpled to the floor, clutching his right arm and gritting his teeth. Blood leaked between his fingers.

Hall yelled in rage, spraying the rest of his magazine everywhere in front of him. "WHERE ARE YOU?!" he screamed.

"Hall! Get behind cover!" I shouted, bringing him back to his senses. We all remained motionless, breathing shallowly as if it would help.

A voice echoed across the hallway. "Dodge this, bitch." The report of a .44 magnum cracked through the air. I stood in time to see the assassin fall to the floor, flickering in and out of existence as her active camouflage projectors failed. Alyx put another shot into the commando before lowering her gun. I looked back the other way to see Hall kneeling down by the brigadier general, pressing two of his fingers to the flag officer's neck.

The sergeant met our inquisitive gazes with a slight shake of his head. Hall took a moment to close the general's eyelids before standing again.

Turner broke the somber silence. "Come on. We need to keep moving."

I addressed Alyx, "How bad is it?"

"Not good at all; we're being slaughtered at every corner. There's at least three hundred soldiers in the base. Some fighters made a break for the surface but the Combine have armored vehicles and heavy troops entrenched outside. It's a damn slaughterhouse."

I choked back a knot in my throat. "How… how many of us are left?"

She looked down and closed her eyes. "I don't know. Judging from whatever radio chatter I can pick up…" Alyx took a shaky breath, "Eighty percent casualties."

I couldn't say or think anything for half of the next minute. When my speech finally returned, I knew I had to save as many lives as possible. "Order a full retreat. Tell everyone to get the hell out of here."

The four-star spoke up. "Now hold on. You don't have authority to–"

I raised my hand to silence my superior. "General, please. Black Mesa East has fallen; there is no point in further unnecessary loss of life. Our best course of action is to save as many of our people as we can."

He still wouldn't give, and I honestly couldn't blame him. "But maybe there's still a chance to–"

"Freeman's right, sir," Alyx backed me up, "As much as I hate to admit it, retreating is our best course of action."

His shoulders fell as he saw our reasoning. "Alright. Order the retreat."

Alyx pulled out her radio and I switched on my suit's transmitter. We contacted the remaining squads and told them to pull out. Most of them said they were pinned down or otherwise unable to move, but there was a ray of hope. Switchback, Razor, Hastati, and Crimson squads responded in the affirmative. The four squad leaders said they and their men were already making their way out, and even though they would not be able to rendezvous with us, they would help move the exodus along however they could.

"Squad Bravo Three, possible contact. Moving to verify."

The Combine soldier's report moved us behind cover. We took up positions in perfect ambush dispersal. The enemy gunners' helmet-mounted flashlights played across the walls as they slowly moved in, unaware of the ambush that awaited them. The senior troop gave his men a two-fingered wave. His men silently acknowledged the order, advancing in a crisscross formation and covering each other's backs.

One of the two remaining colonels tapped me on the shoulder. I looked over to see her holding a grenade she had pulled off her gear belt. She raised her eyebrows, but I shook my head and made a small motion toward the rest of us. She nodded and returned the explosive to its clip on her belt, understanding the blast would hit us too.

Everyone held their breath as the quartet of gunmen moved into our fields of fire. I waited until all four soldiers were well within range before giving the signal. Hall was the first to pull the trigger, sending a load of buckshot into the rear man's back. Colonel Erickson gunned down the point soldier with her M1911 handgun. I sent the third guy flying with my SPAS-12, and Alyx put a magnum round into the side of the last man's head.

I wasted no time in accosting the enemy squad leader. "This attack: what's the endgame?" I briefly glanced at the rank stamped on his right shoulder plate, "And don't play idiot with me, 1st Lieutenant Ramirez. I know you know what's going on."

"This _is_ the endgame," the LT replied flatly.

I wasn't convinced. "Remove your helmet."

He did. I checked for the telltale indoctrination surgery scar, but found nothing on the back of his neck and head. "Alright, I believe you."

"If you were looking for memory replacement scars, you won't find any on me. I can say the same for more and more recruits nowadays."

"Why?"

"President Breen doesn't want millions of mindless drones lumbering around. He wants a well-oiled, intelligent machine capable of thinking independently. You give people convincing leadership, and they'll follow."

Sergeant Hall muttered, "_Conniving_ leadership is more like it." A few of the officers snickered in agreement. I sent a steel glare Hall's way and he took the hint.

"How did you find Black Mesa East? You don't just stumble across a heavily camouflaged bunker."

"You Resistance idiots are tearing each other apart." _Does he mean this was… oh hell no!_

"Someone sold us out." It wasn't a question.

The lieutenant sneered. "You catch on quick."

"Who was it?" I demanded. When he didn't answer I pinned him against the wall with my forearm. _"Who was it?!"_

The enemy officer suddenly went limp, and he was foaming at the mouth. The son of a bitch had a cyanide tooth!

"Move!" Hall dove behind cover, pulling Colonel Erickson with him. Everyone else ran for cover but General Harper and Colonel Farnsworth didn't make it. They fell to the deck, riddled with bullets.

Alyx shouted above the enemy fire, "Gordon!"

"What?"

"We'll have a better chance if we split up! That way at least some of us will make it out!"

"I'll take the officers out of here." But Alyx wouldn't have it.

"No! We can't have all three VIPs together. I'll take Colonel Erickson and Major General Riker. You get out of here with Captain Turner and Sergeant Hall."

"Fine."

She tossed me a satchel. "Here, use this to blow the exit once you're through!"

We waited for a break in the gunfire and then stormed in opposite directions like bats out of hell. Hall and Turner each took another bullet, but thankfully the shots were nonlethal. Hall took it in the arm and Turner's round just barely winged him in the side. We were at the back doors in ten minutes. I tossed the bag to Turner.

"Set the charges; Hall and I will cover you!"

We knocked the Combine soldiers down as they appeared. Finally, Turner called out just as were running low on ammunition.

"Done!"

"Turner, Hall, come on! Blow the exit once we're clear!"

Turner did not move. "Go."

"What?"

"Get out of here. It's only going to take them a couple of minutes to cut through the rubble once they get here. They'll catch up to us and kill us anyway."

"Turner, what are you doing?"

"I said go! Hall and I will hold them as long as we can!"

"Dammit, Mike, I'm not leaving you!"

He took a deep breath. "Sorry, Doc. I'm not asking." Turner's boot knocked me through the door and several feet out into the rising sunlight. My ears rang from the C4 exploding and I briefly choked on the dust from the rubble.

_How the hell can I hope to beat them? For all I know, High Command is dead. We're being crushed. But that changes nothing. I will keep fighting President Breen until one of us is dead._

000

CMB PRIORITY COMMUNICATION

FRM: MIKHAILOVICH, CONRAD; GEN. CMB MILITARY

RECIP: BREEN, WALLACE; PRES. CMB OVERWATCH

SENT: 07.12.2025 19:55 HRS

/BEGIN TRANSMISSION/

President Breen,

It is with wholehearted satisfaction that I report the success of Operation: Troika. We struck fast and precisely where it hurt; your informant certainly was accurate and reliable. Any fighters who still live were driven off in fear of our overwhelming might. They will not stand against us again. The Resistance is a mere nuisance, and while the return of Dr. Gordon Freeman is a troubling issue, one man cannot be a threat to the power of the Combine. The soldiers were… eager, admittedly, having killed several key Resistance leaders whom could have served as future agents of our cause. I trust implicitly in your leadership and will eagerly await our next major victory against the sick and dying pestilence of the Resistance.

A personal note: I would be most grateful if you could take a few short minutes of your time to commend Admiral Frasier for me. The STG team she sent in performed flawlessly.

Sincerely yours,

GEN Conrad Mikhailovich

000

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well that's chapter six, everyone; I hope you enjoyed! Right off the bat I want to clear something up. I don't know if it was chapter four or five, but one of those says something like "(special thanks to _)". I apologize for that; I meant to put some actual thanks where the underscore was, but I forgot. -_- So _now_, before I forget _again_, special thanks to The Nihilanth (I hope I'm spelling that correctly), Silverlynx13, Houndeye, and a couple of guests. I really can't say how much your reviews help me out; Houndeye in particular gave me a great suggestion of cutting down on the unnecessary weapon details, among other things.

P.S. Could somebody please PM me about how to make those grey lines? The light gray ones that stretch all the way across the page? I'd rather use those as breaks than triple zeroes.

Cheers,

7

_SergeantLawson_


End file.
